Waiting To Be Whole
by missmelly
Summary: A young and talented composer is hoping for a muse to give his music new direction. He gets more than he bargained for when he is inspired by the mysterious woman sitting next to him in class. AU All characters the property of Stephanie Meyer.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: I am attempting a crazy thing: writing a Twilight fan fiction having never read the books or seen the movie. Yar, call me silly. I'd appreciate your letting me know it you are intrigued and want to read more; I have the story in outline, but only have the first four or five chapters written; there's no point in pushing forward if you aren't gonna read! So review with your thoughts, and I'd appreciate your telling me what you especially enjoy about Edward. Your ideas will help me focus. And who knows: maybe you can convince me to read the real thing!

* * *

**Prologue**

Looking back—isn't hindsight always 20/20?—I had seen her on campus.

I rarely notice women. They always notice me, and it makes me smile. An uncomfortable smile, to be sure. But since the piano is my companion, I walk around with music as a constant partner and there isn't much room for anything else; I even forget to eat.

But that's exactly why I noticed her: she walked like music. It was so subtle, yet completely obvious. Her strides were long for a small woman (well, small to me; I'm over six feet), her legs moving like a pendulum—perfect rhythm. Her hips had minimal, but delicious, sway. Her mahogany hair bounced just after the beat of her booted feet, and her hands swung easily at her side. Unlike most students, she wasn't carrying an armload of folders and books. I briefly wondered what color her eyes were…

I didn't have time to contemplate my attraction; it was a momentary thing, as the composition I'd been struggling with flooded back into my brain. The working title was "Waiting to Be Whole"—I know, pathetic—and I had come up with the initial theme when I was out running on a misty day just like this one. The snippet of music haunted me now. It was melancholy, yearning, sweet, and incomplete. It wouldn't leave me alone, but when I sat to the keyboard, nothing I tried fit. Just that one small bit, continuously overriding my thoughts. It was maddening.

Those few notes were swirling around my head as I walked into the lecture hall, climbing the steps three at a time—long legs, right?—to my usual seat close to the top. Up here, I could "play" the flip-up desk without bothering too many other students. I shook my eternal bed head like a dog, ridding myself of the ever-present drizzle. As I pulled out a notebook and pen, I heard a sigh. Or a hiss. Or maybe it was just the scrape of papers around me. I wasn't exactly paying attention.

I _should_ pay more attention. This was a class I picked on purpose. I figured "Selling Yourself as an Artist" was useful to someone wanting a career as a composer. I knew movies, TV shows, and the web needed original compositions; also, I thought I wouldn't know the first thing about selling myself. And I sure as fuck didn't want to live in Forks forever.

I liked my family, but I had been dependent on them for too long; I was ready to make my own way. My adopted father was a respected doctor at the big hospital outside of Forks. He had always treated me with kindness and care, and we were close. In many ways, we were more like friends than family, and I was grateful for that connection, having lost my birth parents when I was little.

My dad and his wife had divorced when I was in middle school. I didn't know her as well, but she was a lovely woman and had always welcomed me into her life. I had always felt her daughter, Alice, and her son, Emmett, were my true siblings—they knew me better than anyone, and they never let me get away with anything, telling me when I fucked up, loving me no matter what, and supporting my crazy wish to be a composer.

Delightful Alice, a sort of demented fairy princess, had fallen in love with my best friend, Jasper, when we were in high school, and he was completely smitten with her: I so hoped I would one day find that kind of love. And hilarious Emmett, outgoing and easy with everyone, also had already discovered the love of his life when Rose had moved to Forks all the way from New York in our junior year of high school. Emmett was all done with college now, and he owned his own car repair and detailing outfit in the next town over. He and Rose were expecting what I felt sure was the first of many children. I was excited about having a nephew, and my head was full of snippets of lullabies.

Alice and I would graduate next year, and my money was on her marrying Jasper before we even finished school. I wanted to compose something spectacular for their wedding. I had to confess: I sometimes wished for a partner like my siblings had found, but none of the women who offered me phone numbers and dinners felt like my muse.

I shook myself to bring my mind into focus; we were only two classes into the semester, and I was already vegging out to the drone of the professor's voice—a pleasant enough baritone; maybe he sang in his church choir? I took off my glasses, wiping off the incessant Washington mist with my shirt. My finger pads softly tapped the desk and my head swirled with possibilities for a new piece, as I tried to ignore "Waiting," intruding in that persistent way it had. Knowing I should be paying attention, I nevertheless gave in to the notes crowding my brain. I was only vaguely aware of a woman sitting just a few seats over. What actually got my attention was how completely still she was. Eerie. Creepily still, like the dead. Only, if the dead could… wait. Just as I raised my head to look at her, she turned and met my eyes. Every note of music flew from my head, and I was momentarily disoriented by the silence. Her gaze flowed through my eyes and into my brain, cool water splashing my overworked synapses, before her eyes flicked down to my mouth. She inhaled with a gasp, and her dazzling teeth snagged on her plump bottom lip. I was riveted, and suddenly very, very hot. Just as I grabbed the neck of my sweater and yanked it off over my head, flapping it on the desk, she… groaned? And before my eyes could find her face again, she was gone.

In her place, the lightest scent of flowers lingered. I spent the rest of the class staring at the space where she had been sitting, my brain burning for a change with something besides music: the vision of her deep brown eyes. Well, they weren't exactly brown, more the dark black-red of the inside of cherries from Mount Rainier, or the peppery pinot noir my dad liked. I'd never seen burgundy eyes before, but then, I didn't notice much about the way people looked. Her eyes were cold… warm? Deep, but like a volcano crater, waiting to erupt, and I was lost to the memory until I realized people all around me were gathering their stuff and leaving.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd gone an hour without music in my head. Feeling a little dizzy, I shrugged into my sweater and left.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: I live in a music library. No kidding. My husband and I have almost 10,000 CDs and probably at least that much vinyl. So you aren't gonna escape a story about a musician without me suggesting some tunes! Here are a few favorites that are about love and sex and death and obsession, in no particular order. Eliza Carthy: _Hug You Like Mountain;_ Nick Cave: _Where the Wild Roses Grow;_ PJ Harvey: _Dress; _Jane Siberry:_ The Walking_; Imogen Heap:_ The Moment I Said It; _Robyn Hitchcock:_ Swirling; _Joanna Newsom:_ Colleen; _CC Adcock:_ Stealin' All Day; _Fleet Foxes:_ Tiger Mountain Peasant Song._

What songs about love and sex and death and obsession do you love?

* * *

**Chapter 1**

It had been a long time since I'd been overpowered. The scorching in my throat was beyond pain. My lungs refused to take in any more air, screaming with the rich smoky smell. If I'd had tears, my eyes would have watered at the burn.

I held myself still, too still. This was something humans eventually noticed, but if I fidgeted, more of the horrifying, delectable scent would waft around me. It came from the human man sitting several seats apart, and unbidden, the monster made me turn my head to see him. See the source of this excruciating, boiling, shrieking odor. I met his eyes, briefly noting they were clear sea green, before the monster made me look at his mouth: his lips were full of salty, pulsing blood and I leaned forward to bite them off his face. What was I _doing? _I had to control this,_ now!_

Just as I wrenched control from the monster, barely restraining the urge to take the man to the floor and roll on him like a dog, crushing him to a bursting red pulp, the man pulled off a garment and I was assaulted with the most repulsive, delightful tang. His body positively throbbed with heat, blood, and sweat. Knowing I was endangering myself, my family, and the treaty by doing so, I risked discovery and flew from the room. When I moved that fast, humans typically couldn't see, but when I stopped outside, leaning against the bricks and gulping one lungful after another of moist air, several students startled at my sudden appearance. I railed at my lack of control; what was wrong with me? What had just happened?

I forced myself to move with human slowness. I slipped my phone from my pocket and called Charles; he answered on the first ring.

"Bella?"

"Charles!" I was still gasping to clear my head.

"Is something wrong?"

I pressed my teeth into my lower lip. "Um. Maybe? Yes."

"Tell me," Charles's voice was smooth and calm. I blew air from my lungs, calming myself.

I moved deeper into the shadow of the building, shielding myself from human eyes and ears.

"It's blood, Charles."

"Ah," he said softly; I could tell that currently he was around humans and didn't want to be overheard. "Was someone hurt?" Of course he'd assumed I'd seen an accident.

"Actually, no," I said, surprised at myself. An incident with spilled human blood was difficult even for Charles, and he experienced that sort of thing all the time in his line of work. But he was a master of control and had been for hundreds of years. "It was a… fellow student. Someone in my new class. A man."

Charles didn't mean for me to hear his intake of air. I was instantly on alert. "What?" I asked.

"Oh Bella," Charles sighed. Without any words, I knew what he was thinking. I could feel the heaviness of his need in those two words. Charles was often sad for me. He loved me beyond reason and had taught me everything, made me what I am and protected me. But he had Renee, and were deliriously happy in their love. They wanted that for me. Hoped I could find someone. Rid myself of the loneliness I radiated like heat.

Not that they would choose a human man for me, not at all. But there weren't many men available to me, and while I didn't enjoy society the way Renee did, I couldn't deny wanting to share aspects of my existence with… a friend. Was it weak for me to want a friend? Dangerous, without a doubt. But not likely a fatal flaw (although The Volturi would disagree).

I had grown so used to being alone that I rarely noticed the depth of my solitude. Usually, it was a place of refuge for me. But on those days when Charles and Renee were exceptionally close, when their passion and adoration spilled over the entire house, I fled into the woods, running miles and hunting until I was uncomfortably full. In some ways, their happiness together fueled my drive to return to college—for the third time—even though I didn't want or need a degree for the book I was starting to write. Being in Seattle got me away from their sweet, noisy, inescapable love, letting me concentrate on my work.

As I contemplated Charles's sigh, I frowned. "It wasn't like that at _all,_ Charles," I huffed.

"Then tell me," Charles urged.

"It was beyond strong. He came in from the rain and sat just apart from me. He shook his hair and the wetness flew. And then…" I paused, gulping as the venom rose in my mouth at the memory. "His smell rolled over me. It… hurt."

"Hurt?" I could hear the curiosity in Charles's voice.

"Yes. His smell was painful. Like fire ants were marching down my throat. I had to… run."

"Was it attracting you? Pulling you?"

"No. Nothing about it was attractive. It was too large, too much. Venom was pouring down my throat, my whole body was singing with it."

Charles went still on the other end. I couldn't hear a thing, and I wondered for a split second if the call had dropped. Then he said, very quietly, "Singing?"

"Yes. Like I could feel his pulse inside me. Like his heart was beating in me. I wanted…" I hesitated to say it aloud. "I wanted to take him in my jaws and run up a tree with him, jam him on a branch and… lick him all over," my voice faded. I took a deep breath and admitted, "I panicked."

"But he is all right?"

"Yes. But only because I ran. Charles," my voiced hitched, "I wanted to sink my teeth in him. It was stronger than I've ever felt."

"But you didn't, Bella." Charles voiced dropped to a soothing murmur. He paused for a long moment. "You are thinking of leaving." It wasn't a question.

I didn't have to answer; he knew. We could skip past that discussion, because we had gone through it before. I was good at leaving him.

Instead of answering, I said, "Charles, have you ever… has any one person ever smelled… better to you than the others?"

I heard Charles' concern when he spoke, "Oh." He paused again and I could detect a quiet sigh. "Do what you must, my girl. But before you decide, come home for a few days. Let me help you."

And I knew that he could. I really didn't want to leave; I was so tired of always leaving. I wanted to work on my book. I wanted to actually stay in one place until I reached the end of something. But my throat still ached with the hideously appealing scent of the man. I could barely think for wanting to flood my senses with his outrageous flavor.

"All right. I'll come to see you. I'll hunt on the way." I didn't wait for his response and pocketed my phone.

_8888888_

Halfway home, I pulled my truck into a rutted side road leading into the woods. I trotted silently through the dark trees, my feet skimming the leaf litter. I was hoping for a bobcat, but would take a coyote; no herbivorous herding animal would satisfy me tonight. The forest was humming with the scurries of small warm things—moles and mice and flying squirrels—less than snacks and not worth my time.

A few hundred yards in, I hit the trail of a fox with its fuzzy oil smell. I leapt a creek, noting the greasy odor of beavers upstream. And then, deep in the trees along a rocky outcropping, I found it: the powdery copper pungency of a cat. I lifted my nose up to catch the subtle scent. It was faint and high off the ground. I could tell from the ammonia reek, it was a male; I did not want to take a female with kits to feed.

I froze, listening. Only my sensitive hearing could pick up the well-padded feet flopping silently along the packed dirt atop the rocks. As the footfalls came close, closer, I crouched. With a spring, I was on the rocks. The square weight of the spotted cat spun, hissing, ears flattened to its broad skull, canines glistening in the night. But it never had a chance.

Moving faster than it could see, I thumped its neck, paralyzing it before sinking my razor-edged teeth into the neck artery. The hot, fiery blood shot into my throat and I didn't even have to swallow to take it in. The thud of the cat's heart drummed in me, and as it slowed, I began to suck, pulling all the wet salty thickness out of my prey. The heart stopped and I stood, still holding it in my jaws. I walked slowly in a circle, the cat dangling from my mouth, its limp paws tangling between my knees. A roar was building in me. As it tore open my lips, the dead cat tumbled down the rock face; my howl split the dark, and the woods answered, a cacophony of squeals and growls, twigs snapping as living things blundered away.

I licked my lips and sat on the rocks, swinging my legs with the drowsy comfort that hunting other hunters always caused.I opened my mouth and tasted the cool damp of the forest, a perfect chaser to the heat of the cat. The sky was lightening to the east when I jumped down, kicking leaves and branches over the remains of my meal. I gave silent thanks for its life before inviting the beetles and worms to start their feast.

My walk back to the truck was slow. I felt better than I had in long time—almost content—listening to the chirps and shuffles of insects, the mousey rustling, and the applauding of pine needles ruffled by the breeze. As usual, the sky was cloudy and I saw no stars.

Charles and I had hunted many nights like this; he taught me how to take animals for sustenance and disdain the luscious blood of humans. Having been one once, it was his contention that we could not feed from them. Charles, Renee, and I were unusual for our kind, and our atypical feeding habits drew suspicion and derision, with visitors of our kind traveling far to observe us. Somehow, we were more monstrous than the other monsters. And after today's revelation at school, I felt the most monstrous of all.

I would have given my future—an eternity, in fact—to murder that man. I could try to justify it as hunger, as compulsion, but it would have looked like murder, plain and simple. I would have hit him in the neck, rendering him powerless, and cradling him like an infant, I would have sped to seclusion. There I would have wasted precious seconds holding him, celebrating his pulse, reveling in his warmth. His eyelids would flutter, pulling from me a sigh of longing. I would inhale the ripeness of his sweat. I would lick his smooth skin. And when the venom sweetened my mouth, I would have sliced his neck like butter under a carving knife and swallowed him whole.

Charles would disapprove. He would always love me, but such an action on my part would sadden him. Thinking of Charles lightened my mood. My struggles were small compared to his, and my accomplishments few. He was my mentor, my sounding board, and most significantly, my maker.

Charles had been a part of the Kelsey exploration of central Canada in 1690, and was changed by a rogue who killed trappers in Saskatchewan. He had learned how to decipher his overwhelming new senses, control his super strength, avoid lethal detection by men, hunt animals for sustenance, and avoid sun and the undeniable lust for human blood, all without the benefit of a teacher. He was alone and, he told me, terribly lonely. So when he smelled my blood as I lay at the bottom of an arroyo outside San Xavier, broken and moments from death, his need for companionship drove him to bite me, putting his venom in me. He had few memories of how he had been changed, so I carry the scars of his clumsiness—some might say a small price to pay for a life without end.

I was not the companion he had hoped for; stubborn and willful, I did not want the gift he had bestowed, and I fought with him at every turn. My thirst was uncontrollable and I disappointed him many, many times when I answered it. His demand for my controlling my monstrous new nature, for my acceptance and my submission to his belief that we could rise above it and make the world a better place, fought with the contrariness that had been a part of my human life, and seemed magnified exponentially by my change. I left him often at first, sometimes for years.

The more I scorned his teachings, the more lost I became. I tried to die. I flung myself from high places. I swam to the middle of two different oceans. I used my earth-shattering voice to bury myself deep in rock slides and avalanches. I baited polar bears and mako sharks (the results were comic: the mighty predators fled from me in fright). I suffered horrifying wounds, but I always eventually healed.

Charles told me much later that I might have succeeded had I dared setting myself on fire. But by the time flammable solvents were readily available, I was past the active stage of my self-destruction, and was cloaking myself in my monstrosity like a martyr in a hair shirt.

As it turned out, I was much better at emotional suffering, having been raised as a woman in a desolate Spanish settlement in the early 1800s; from the time I could talk, I knew my lot was to suffer and serve in silence. But my willfulness got me starved, beaten, and most horribly, ignored as a possible wife for any suitable young man who might have served as my escape. When I was twenty, a costly burden to my father and too old to be proposed to, I was given in marriage to an older man who needed a nurse more than a wife, and was willing to pay handsomely for a woman to bathe his syphilitic sores and rub his rotting gums; on the eve of my wedding day, I stole a horse, never having ridden before, and was thrown to my virtual death in that dusty washout. Emotional suffering was positively easy for me.

Charles and his never-ending patience, his unshakable belief in my native goodness, never gave up on me. He taught me to read and write, skills that instantly became a consuming passion. When nothing else could ground me, he knew always to give me a book. I would lose myself in words, in the smell and feel of paper and leather and glue. I loved the scritch of pen to paper, the depth of blue-black ink, the flow of letters across a page. I sometimes wrote for days on end, forgetting to hunt.

He also taught me about money and commerce and laws. He exposed me wherever possible to art and music. We traveled endlessly, of course, but he always helped me tease out the history of every place we went. I admired him, followed him, and eventually, emulated him. But I could never fall in love with him.

So when the crime wave that swept America in the 1930s following prohibition led to unprecedented, heinous acts, Charles was again faced with a monstrous choice.

By then, he had become quite an expert on humankind, and had put his natural protectiveness to work as small town constables and sheriffs in the West. He was a good lawman, disciplined, fair, and with a nose that could quite literally smell trouble. He could solve cases and track criminals with an expertise unmatched by the humans he persuaded to hire him—he was also unparalleled at dazzling them into overlooking his strangely pale and glasslike skin and the chill of his hard flesh. And no one ever seemed to question his uncanny ability to subdue the worst criminals without the use of a weapon or handcuffs. By the turn of the 20th century, he was in great demand as a master detective.

So it was that he was hired by an obscenely wealthy family to find their kidnapped daughter. Her blood-soaked fingerprints were pressed to post cards and sent every day until the frantic family panicked the local police by threatening to pay the monumental ransom; the police feared that such a payment would only bring about the daughters' murder rather than securing her release.

And so Charles was brought in to find the young woman, and no one thought to question his fascination with the postcards, the way he stared at them, held them to his face, and sniffed them like a hound dog, his eyes gleaming. No one questioned how he went straight to the hiding place, finding and killing all but one of her captors (who stood trial and was hanged for her torture). And no one questioned the impossibly skilled detective when he recounted how he found her on the threshold of death, her grievous wounds infected and oozing. The broken-hearted parents bore her screams and seizures as she failed to get better, and on the third day, when her eyes glazed and her heart stopped, no one questioned when the detective removed her body in preparation for the funeral.

What everyone questioned—to no avail; there were no answers, at least, not any that would be believed—was why her body never made it to the mortician and what happened to the remarkable detective who had found her too late.

Only I knew that when Charles had burst into that scabrous hovel, the blood of the tortured daughter sang to him from every corner where it had dripped. Only I knew that he had sobbed over her failing form, before tearing her attackers apart. And only I knew that he had pushed his venom into her delicate neck, and returned her to her devastated family so that they would witness what they assumed was her death. Because only I had felt his venom in my body and knew what it could do. And only I had lived with him and knew his loneliness.

So as Charles had made me and I was his eternal daughter, Renee became his wife. Their passion would last forever, and suddenly I needed them. I needed to see that love and know it was possible.

I got in my truck and pointed it toward home.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note: right now, I have several short chapters mostly ready to go; I am assuming you'd rather have shorter chapters sooner than longer chapters further apart? Let me know when you review.

I imagine my Bella looks like Olga Kurylenko:

www (dot) askmen (dot) com/ galleries/ olga-kurylenko/ picture-3 (remove spaces after slashes)

More music, some of this challenging and very rewarding. Gavin Bryars: _Jesus' Blood Never Failed Me Yet;_ Arvo Part: _Tabula Rasa;_ Dave Brubeck: Blue Rondo A La Turk; Camille Saint-Saens: _Danse Macabre; _George Gershwin:_ Rhapsody In Blue _(the Piano Rolls version);Terry Riley:_ In C;_ Kate Bush: _The Ninth Wave._

_

* * *

  
_

**Chapter 2**

I looked forward to the lecture all week; usually classes felt like an interruption. They were a dam in the flow of composing and I resented it, even as I knew logically I needed the discipline of doing something beyond the hours spent at the piano. But I had not been able to stop thinking about those eyes, those hot fudge eyes. My nose remembered the faint scent of flowers left in her wake and my whole being wanted to inhale her again.

I sped into the lecture hall, colliding with a girl paused in the doorway. I grabbed her to steady her, and she glared at me; then, as she took me in, she smiled and leaned into my hands. "Sorry," I mumbled, pushing past, already searching the upper rows for _her._ She wasn't there yet, so I sprang up the steps, shivering with anticipation.

I sat in my usual seat, fiddling with a pen. Minutes passed and my agitation grew. To distract myself, I flipped through my notebook, not able to focus on the pages. The chords crashing through my brain were jumbled and sharp.

When the lecture started and she hadn't arrived, my eyes started flicking around the hall, looking for her—could she have slipped in without my notice? But even as I searched every face, I knew she wasn't there. I turned toward the place I'd last seen her, willing to find her there.

And then, the strangest thing: as I stared at the empty seats, a cascade of notes tumbled down my spine and I shuddered. My fingers instantly tapped on the desk, and in my head, I heard a new figure weave through the existing bars of "Waiting," demanding specific cadences and sounds to follow. Without any thought for the class or the professor looking up at me, I bolted from the hall to find a piano.

8888888888

Jasper had let me keep my baby grand at his place; he lived in an old house right next to the campus and had the room. It was easy for me to go there, and the notes swirling in my head expected instant action. No waiting for a practice room. No wincing at an out-of-tune instrument. No distraction from discordant Debussy when someone forgot to shut a door.

He had generously turned over his entire front room to me, and I loved the space. It was a tower room with almost floor to ceiling windows along the curved wall. There were hardwood floors and a pressed tin ceiling, giving the space unique acoustics. I had dragged in an overstuffed couch, where I had crashed many nights after stroking the keys until my wrists and forearms ached. I liked to surround myself when I was composing with evocative things, so the window sills and the mantle of the beautiful fireplace were crammed with plastic soldiers, board game pieces, broken thrift store dolls, and hobby shop models with parts missing; the walls were taped over with pictures torn from magazines, vintage postcards from the second hand stalls that ringed the campus, family vacation photos, and children's book illustrations. Some had been up so long that even the weak Seattle daylight had faded them.

I let myself in, throwing my books and papers on the floor, and striding through to the piano. As usual when I was this bursting with ideas, the instrument looked anticipatory, waiting for my pats and caresses. Pianos loved me and I loved them, even though they sometimes made me crazy with their demands. There was rarely any room inside me for female attention beyond the satin sheen of ivory teeth, the soft curve of bent wood, and the poised straining of taut strings waiting for me to pound them.

Every once in a great while, a girl had pushed past the continual hum and roar of music inside me, and gotten in my bed. But the music never held off for long, and as soon as it pushed back in me, women grew impatient fighting past it. And while I'd have to admit that their bodies were pretty and mine reacted with enthusiasm, women never responded the way a piano did when I made love to it. Pianos never asked me to dress up, go out for dinner, or avoid other pianos. And every single time I laid my fingers on a keyboard, I got the same heavenly reply: tickles and nibbles, soaring and swooping, banging and panting, dripping and sighing, tension and release. Only a piano made me feel that way and I craved it.

As I sat to the keys, my fingertips already playing the music born from the hole left by the absent girl from class, I realized that somehow she had given those notes to me. "Waiting" rose up and pushed out, weaving around and into the new melody, and my mind conjured her image unbidden: mahogany hair drifting in soft curls down her back, liquid mulberry eyes, polished ivory skin, slender, leggy, graceful. My body created the sounds that made her loveliness flicker against my closed eyelids. Song poured down my arms and out through my fingers, and even as my anxiety fought with me to stop playing and write this all down, my thrumming nerves knew I'd never forget a note.

8888888888

Two weeks. Four classes. I had finally stopped looking for her. And then she was there.

I had been using the few minutes before class started to scribble on a blank staff, trying an idea for a new composition—"Waiting" was frustrating me again, so I was sulking and ignoring it. When I heard a low voice, right at my shoulder, I made a questioning "hm?" without looking up.

The voice said, "I was wondering if I could look at your notes to see what I missed."

Just as I was thinking that I'd never heard a voice so perfectly like a cello, the delicate scent of flowers and some other, mouth-watering scent hit my nose. My eyes shot up, startled, and saw _hers,_ molten like brownies right out of the oven, dilate almost to black. I jumped, and her gaze shifted momentarily to my mouth, before flicking back up to mine; she wasn't looking at me, she was looking _in_ me. It was… unsettling. And hot as fuck.

"Um?" I mumbled, dazzled dumb by her beauty. Some part of me knew I was staring, but all the rest of me could care less, as I took in her flawless skin—cream-colored silk floating over distinct cheekbones—and her full, ridiculously red lips. Glossy deep brown hair waved around her heart-shaped face and spilled across her shoulders, and one delicate eyebrow arched up, and up… as she repeated her question for what must have been the third time: "May I look over your class notes?"

I flushed—not something I was prone to do—and started fumbling on the desk. "Oh. Sure. I mean… yes! Here," my brain buzzed like it was made of bees, and I shoved my notebook at her. She was still looking at my face as she reached, and my fingers grazed hers. Her skin was cool to the touch, but I felt like I'd been burned, and I snatched my hand back, rubbing it on my jeans. Her eyes watched my fingers rubbing on my knee, and her teeth snagged her bottom lip, exactly like the first time, and just like that time, she made a tiny noise deep in her throat. Her eyes flew to mine, and again flicked to my mouth—she seriously needed to stop that sexy shit or I was gonna lose it—and before I could see her move, she'd sat several seats away from me. She shook her long hair forward, hiding her loveliness from me as she bent her head to my notebook. I inhaled, sharp and loud, searching for her smell, and I swear I saw her shiver.

I spent the rest of the class staring at her, frozen in time until she would turn to hand back my book.

When people started gathering their things, I realized class was over, and ducked my head so she wouldn't catch me staring. She rose slowly, gracefully, like a fawn unfolding impossibly long legs to stand, and watched me across the desks. I could only look back, feeling a bit trapped by those root beer colored eyes. After a few hours, or seconds, I extended my hand for my notebook. She stepped toward me haltingly, like some physical thing held her back. When she handed it to me, I could tell she was keeping her hand away from mine, and even though I wanted that high-voltage contact, my blood raced, understanding she'd felt the electric touch from before, just as I had, and was avoiding it. I was momentarily sad that she didn't want to experience it again.

As I accepted my notes, I said, "I'm Edward."

Her teeth nestled briefly in her bottom lip—obviously a nervous habit, but I couldn't see why, with her beauty and poise, she'd be nervous around _me_—and then she said in a voice that vibrated through me like the low notes on a violin, "Bella."

She turned so swiftly, I was startled, and she was three steps down before I could form the words, "Wait a minute!"

She stopped, but didn't face me, and I took in the lithe lines of her straight back, wide shoulders (I wondered if she was a swimmer), slender waist and boyish hips, sweet round ass, and I was just sweeping down her endless legs when she tossed her hair across her back and turned her head to me. An eyebrow was once again arched up at me in question (did she look… irritated? Puzzled? Wary?), and I cleared my throat; now I was the nervous one.

"Um. Er." Her other eyebrow lifted skeptically to join the first. I gave a little cough to kick-start my voice—_man up, Cullen, you're being a twat_—and said, "Could I buy you a coffee? That is, if you're free?"

If I'd thought to count heartbeats, I could have counted dozens while she watched me—again that feeling like I was a soft warm mouse to her smooth muscular viper—and I had moved to turn away, when she said softly, "Yes."

My stomach flipped and I sputtered, "Yes?" then, "Yes. Yes! Okay!" I stood up, dropping my pen, grabbed it and dropped my notebook. Her laughter broke over me like a rare warm breeze on cold day, and I couldn't help the shiver that shook me as I stood before her. She saw, and her eyes flared like a match had struck within her. Her lips parted, she breathed in audibly, and my cock twitched. _Get a grip, man!_ I admonished myself, _It's only coffee!_ But try as I might to tell myself this was just a girl, I knew from the moment I saw her that wasn't remotely true.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's note: Always more music, in this case, a few tunes Bella would have known from their birth, through sheet music, radio, and performances. Scott Joplin: _Maple Leaf Rag _(piano roll); Fred Waring: _I Love My Baby,_ _My Baby Loves Me;_ King Oliver: _I'm Going Away to Wear You Off My Mind;_ Blind Boy Willie: _Step It Up and Go;_ Duke Ellington: _Take the A Train;_ Glenn Miller: _String of Pearls;_ Patsy Montana: _I Want to be a Cowboy's Sweetheart;_ Roy Orbison: _Oh Pretty Woman;_ Jefferson Airplane: _Somebody to Love._

_

* * *

  
_

**Chapter 3**

Why I agreed to accompany him—Edward—_for coffee,_ I don't know. I never did anything spontaneously, without consideration, planning. Charles wanted me to control my thirst, but did he truly mean for me to _have a_ _visit?_ This decision was tempting fate—tempting _me_—beyond reason.

But here I was, walking alongside this tall—and I freely admit—handsome man, to perform the common human act of friendship: enjoying food together. Granted, I didn't eat, so it was absurd on many levels, but the strangeness wasn't my current focus. As I kept pace with his long legs—I only came up to his shoulder and his stride was easy and open—I angled my face toward him and inhaled deeply. His coppery scent hit the back of my throat like a blade and I almost staggered, but I made myself inhale again. Venom flooded my mouth and I swallowed, inhaling again. Each breath was torture. Painful. Delicious. He was the most delectable smell I'd ever encountered in all my long existence, and I couldn't get enough of it.

Unlike most humans, he didn't struggle to make conversation, and he walked smoothly, with perfectly rhythmic steps. Most humans moved unevenly, gracelessly, one side of their bodies weaker than the other, throwing their balance into choppy awkwardness. But this man—_Edward_—walked like there was music inside him. It was enjoyable to walk with him. I wondered if I lunged at him, would he… _run?_ I was surprised to find myself smiling.

Just as the smile lifted my lips, he looked at me, and his mouth curved up in a lopsided grin until his lips parted and his white teeth showed; his teeth could never match mine in whiteness, but I was nevertheless struck by the level edges of them. _How would they feel buried in the top of my shoulder?_ I mentally shook myself, wondering where that thought had come from, when his velvety voice asked, "What?"

"What?" I responded back stupidly; if I could have blushed, I would have.

"You smiled," he clarified.

We were drawing up to the sidewalk of the campus coffeehouse, and slowed, then stopped together at exactly the same moment. I tilted my chin up to study his face, really looking at him for the first time.

He wore wire-rimmed eyeglasses, small bronze ovals that mimicked the color of his thick, unruly hair. His eyes behind his glasses were clear green with amber flecks, surrounded by dense dark lashes. His skin was faintly golden, with stubble on his chin and upper lip. _If I leaned in and rubbed my face there, would that scratch?_ I was swaying toward him, I realized, and I gasped at my lack of control. Edward's chuckle erupted over me and I straightened, frowning. I snapped my control in place, and saw his eyes tighten when he saw my own slam shut. I stilled my lungs. I stilled my thoughts. To distract myself, I looked around me, observing. I'd never been here.

As I took in tables, clinking cups, laughing humans, contemporary music, and soothing shade cast by a broad awning, I felt accomplished. I could _do_ this. I heard a chair scrape as Edward pulled one away from a table and looked at me expectantly. I was briefly surprised, as human men rarely made this gesture, and it had always been one from my human life I appreciated. Of course, I didn't wear jeans back then, so it was useful to be helped into a chair…

Edward didn't sit. I looked up at him and his eyes were watchful now. Tentative since I had shut him out. I gave him a soft smile to put him at ease. He set his messenger bag in a chair and asked, "What would you like?"

_I'd like to sink my teeth in your arteries and drink you down until your heartbeat throbs in me and your boots clatter on this concrete as your nerves twitch their last._ I saw his eyes flinch at my expression. _Gaaaa! Where is my control?_ Charles won't be pleased. Aloud I said, "I've never been here before. What do you get?"

Edward hesitated, still worried by the predatory glimmer he had sensed on my face. I could tell his brain had refused to register the danger, even as his pulse and breathing hitched. His eyes flicked away from mine, and when he looked back, his own seemed darker, more intensely green, like the conifers surrounding the campus.

"I'm getting hot tea. They have a raspberry one here I especially like." I stared at the sculpted edges of his perfect lips. That made him shift his weight back and forth, nervous again.

"Make that two," I said. He nodded and went inside.

I inhaled sharply, gulping the cool, moist air. Several students looked up at the sound, but immediately went back to their reading or chatting; this was always how humans responded to me: _look away! If you don't see the monster, she can't see you!_ Even as their minds were too slow to read what I was, their bodies sputtered with adrenaline at the sight of me.

I used the quiet moment to compose myself. What was I doing here? What did I hope to accomplish?

I reflected back on my recent visit with Charles and Renee: Charles had asked me more about the man, Edward. I told them I was unduly interested in him—curious about my reaction to him—but I could not afford to find Edward interesting. I told them I wanted badly to face this thing head on, rather than running away. Could I go to class, sit beside Edward, where I could smell the absurdly potent scent of his blood and feel the warmth of his pulse in the air on my skin? Was I strong enough for that? I was embarrassed how my world suddenly seemed to revolve around this ridiculous man, a student, nobody. I'd found myself yelling, "Why does he exist? Why has he ruined what little peace I have in this non-life of mine? I hate him!" My anger distracted me from imagining what he would taste like.

Charles had said, "I'm sorry you're suffering, Bella. Maybe it _is_ better to go; you should do what you can to keep the man alive. Even if it means leaving." Renee had assured me they would come with me. I didn't want to uproot my parents (they wouldn't thank me for that). I sobbed with all the fervor that had made me cling to my former self, my family, my dreams of being something better than what I was.

Charles' kind eyes did not judge me. He wondered if he'd done the right thing, calling me to him—wondered if he hadn't hurt me with his lack of trust.

I sensed how much he wanted me to conquer my thirst. But there was something else he wasn't saying. I could see him hesitate, something he rarely did. Charles was contemplative, but never uncertain.

"What?" I asked, glancing at Renee. Her eyes were sparkling. _"What?!"_ I heard the sulky tone in my voice.

"Bella, you know I love you." When Charles started like this, I knew what was coming. I heaved out an exasperated sigh. "We want for you what we have."

I sprang to my feet. Slipping easily into college student sarcasm, I waved a hand, "Hello? Charles, he's _human!"_

"All the better for you to practice on, sweetie," Renee enthused. The fact that she had spent her human life a wealthy young socialite, going to parties and dinners, surrounded by adoring boys, was not lost on me. I'd never been more aware of how much older than her I was.

"Renee has a point, Bella," Charles urged and I swallowed my snippy retort. Something in his voice made me take a deep breath. Charles wanted me to inure myself to the man, I wondered to what purpose? Before I could ask, he told me.

"You are too much alone, daughter. It would be good for you to have friends."

"Human," I repeated, but this time it came out in a whisper. I'd lost the edge I'd been honing to slice this idea off at the knees. All my irritation deflated. Charles had played right to my longing; he knew it better than perhaps even I did. And I grasped with a start that I wanted to return, sit in class, let myself get used to Edward's smell—I grimaced at the unlikeliness of that—and I was surprised to find I did want a friend. Charles thought I could do this; I would have to try.

My mind snapped back to the present: I could smell Edward's deliciousness proceeding him, mixed with a familiar fruit smell: the wild berries ringing the meadows where I hunted deer. Deer weren't my favorite meal, but they were abundant. Easy. And the bucks tasted like power and frustration. When I took them down, their struggles crushed the red berries and the tart aroma blended with the hot adrenaline of the prey, a heady combination. Here was a smell I knew. One I associated with pleasure and satisfaction.

My thoughts swirled. What did friends do? Well, they… hunted together? Hm, yes. But not in _that_ way. They spent time together… got to know one another. Talked to each other.

I could feel the beginnings of something stirring deep inside me. Curiosity? Eagerness? Excitement. Hope. I could do this. I could sit with Edward and simply… ask him questions. As I watched him walking toward me with two cups in his hands, I took in his tall lean form, the way he moved like a mountain lion, his hair haloed from the lights behind him, his hips swaying easily as he steered past tables.

I took the cup he put in front of me, raising it to my nose and inhaling deeply. It immediately helped subdue his ferocious rich scent. I tipped my cup to him, looking into his evergreen eyes, silently toasting to my new friend Edward. I flashed back to the first time I smelled him, when he shook rain off his head like a drenched animal, and I knew the first question I'd ask.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's note: I'm now to the point where I'll most likely post once a week; possibly twice. I really will work harder for my reviewers, though! You are the best! (Wondering if there'll be lemons? Review this chapter and I will send you a teaser.)

Music: Robin Holcomb: _Yr Mother Called Them Farmhouses;_ Veda Hille: _26 Years;_ Lisa Germano: _Guillotine;_ Golden Palominos: _Wings;_ Beth Orton: _Sugar Boy;_ John Martyn: _Don't Wanna Know 'Bout Evil _(if you have a hard time finding the original, there are versions by Dr. John and by Beth Orton that are both worth hearing); Tori Amos: _Cooling;_ Professor Longhair: _Tipitina;_ Rachel Fuller: _Into My Heart;_ Paul McCartney: _Maybe I'm Amazed_; Joni Mitchell:_ Ludwig's Tune._

_

* * *

  
_

**Chapter 4**

As I waited for our tea, I tried to process what had occurred: had a woman just come on to me? This sort of thing took place fairly often and what usually happened is that something about me—typically my obliviousness— made her irritable, and she'd redouble her efforts until my usual lack of response turned her off. What it _felt _like inside me was that a gorgeous girl had smiled and leaned toward me, and when she saw her interest reciprocated, she shut down and closed herself off. Not remotely what I was used to having happen. Had I misread the cues? I wasn't totally inexperienced, and I thought of myself as a decent reader of body language. Although why such a lovely woman would try to… _kiss me?_—when we'd only just met—was a mystery.

Absolutely one I wanted to solve.

I took our raspberry teas out to the table where Bella waited. I was struck again by her stillness, and as I sat down her cup and pulled a chair out for myself, my mind raced over what I could say. I'd give anything to see that quiet smile grace her luscious lips.

She lifted her cup to her face and inhaled. There it was: my smile. _My smile? Am I that big a pussy from just minutes in her company? _But still, no doubt I thought of it as my smile. And seeing _my smile_ thrilled me.

I watched in fascination as her lips slowly parted and her pointed pink tongue emerged to… _lick her tea?_ I had never seen anything so sexy. Until she tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and softly moaned. My cock began to vie for space with my thigh inside my jeans. I had a second to wonder if lube came in raspberry flavor, then another second to be thoroughly ashamed of myself, before her eyes came back to mine. They were a soft glowing brown, like a blanket I wanted to burrow in. I'm pretty sure I'd never been so hard. I opened my mouth, saying, "Bella?"—

—just as she said, "Edward?"

She gave me my smile again, and I managed to say, "You first."

"Could I ask you a question?"

_Please,_ I thought, _ask me many, many questions, so I can stay here with you all day._ And to my surprise and delight, she did.

"Do you like the rain?"

I chuckled, having anticipated the more usual "What's your major?" or even "Do you have a girlfriend?" I should have known this girl wouldn't go for the usual. I gazed into her liquid eyes and saw they were rimmed with an amber glow, like firelight inside her.

"I guess it depends. I've spent a lot of my life here, so I expect it to be cloudy most days. In some ways, I'd have to say the weather doesn't occur to me, since I'm at my piano most of the time, and well… I don't take it outside much." She was listening so intently that I smirked to signal I was making a joke. It must have been pretty lame, since she didn't crack a smile.

Instead, she asked, "You can't play all the time. What else do you do?"

"Hmm, well. Actually I _do_ play all time. Sometimes I don't even sleep." She looked down and away when I said that, and I thought her lips moved. She had been watching me steadily the entire time we were talking, unwavering, like that viper again. She hadn't even had her tea, but she kept it cradled by her face. I finished my thought, "But I like to run, and it helps me compose. When I run I sort of lose my mind and come to my senses. That pounding rhythm—especially when I go fast—turns into notes in my head. Plus the cool, rainy days keep me moving."

"You like cold?"

"Better than hot. You?"

Her liquid eyes widened slightly before she looked away, "I don't really… um, _feel_ temperature."

It crossed my mind that she was like no one I'd ever met, and I asked, "What does that mean exactly?"

"I don't ever seem to be cold. Or hot. I don't sweat…um… get sweaty." Her expression was adorably confused, like she was surprised by her confession. I remembered the electric charge of her cool fingers when she took my notebook. _I'd like the chance to warm you up…_ _christ, Cullen, you don't even know her!_

She brought me back to myself by saying, "You like the piano." Then she gave me that intense look, like she was thinking of eating me. I liked it. It made my brain fizz. She said, "I love piano players. The piano is such a provocative instrument. Long fingers stroking the keys." I practically wiggled in my seat when she said _stroking._ She studied me for a moment while I sipped my tea. "Favorite pianist?"

I blew out a blast of air; how could I choose? I told her that. She waited, so I tried to think. "Well, it depends on the century. Or even the decade. I go for people who compose and play their own work. Gershwin, of course. Tom Waits is astonishing. I wish I could have heard Mozart play. Um. Brian Eno. Mac Rebennack…"

She interrupted, "I saw Professor Longhair play in New Orleans. He was brilliant."

"Yes! My god, can he play! Awesome that you saw him…" I trailed off, puzzled. Something was nudging at the back of my mind. "You…saw him play?"

She nodded.

"But… he's been dead for thirty years. You can't be… I mean, you don't _look_ older than twenty."

Her eyes did that thing where they slammed shut. She bit her lower lip. After a few seconds, she spoke, so quietly I almost couldn't hear, "I didn't see him live. In person. No." She paused again, then said, her voice stronger, "I _am_ twenty."

She was holding her chin up. Why the defiance? Everyone makes slips, but she was acting like she'd been caught at something bad. I was yet again struck by her mysteriousness. Maybe it was time for me to ask some questions.

"So, Bella. What are you studying?"

"American history."

"Why the class in Selling Yourself as an Artist, then?"

"I'm writing a book." If anything, her chin lifted higher.

"A book? That's cool. What about?"

Her words poured out in a rush, tumbling over one another, "It's fiction. Of course. It's a woman's journal. That's made up. She's seen a lot. Born in the early 1900s. Moved around the country. Kept track. Wrote it all down. Experienced all kinds of changes. Lived a long time. Wrote it all… down." She trailed off, like talking about it made her uncomfortable. I was desperate to hear more of her velvety voice.

"Umm. What time period are we talking about?"

"Last century."

"So, is it her perspective as an old woman? You know, looking back on her life?"

Bella looked surprised by my question, as if the idea never occurred to her. She spoke slowly, and I could see her thinking, "Well, I suppose that would be the expected presentation. But it really _is_ her journals, processing all that she has experienced shortly after those things happen."

"So, like a diary then?"

She nodded, inhaling over her cup. I had finished mine, but hers was still full. I wanted to see her open up. I wanted to see the woman I had glimpsed briefly when she was caught off guard. I wanted to see _my smile._ I asked, "What's the woman's name?"

Bella didn't answer for several long seconds, and just as I thought I might have asked something peculiar—although I couldn't see how—she answered in that soft tone just on the edge of hearing: "Isabella."

_Ah. That explains a lot. She's writing about herself. And that embarrasses her._ I really wanted to know why, if she was putting this book out there for all to read, she was so uncomfortable with talking about it. Excited, but wary. Certainly I could understand the discomfort that comes with discussing your artistry. One of my professors was always pushing me to define why I composed; it was annoying as all fuck. But I didn't like Bella being uncomfortable talking to me. Everything about her intrigued me. I wanted her to talk to me forever. _Well, at least until you duel tongues with her._

I shook my head to focus my thoughts and asked, "What sort of things has Isabella seen?"

That must have been the right question, because she was off and running, speaking quickly in her low, melodious voice. She almost couldn't get the words out fast enough as she detailed the high excitement of the space race, the slow and uncertain process of women's suffrage, and the confusion and despair of the Wall Street crash. She outlined the inventions relating to personal computers and the technology revolution, the development of birth control pills and the effect that had on all aspects of women's lives, and the political dynamite of prohibition. She talked with passion about the art that grew out of the Dust Bowl: the photography and novels that documented both the devastation and desolation. She spoke so confidently, with such vividness, that I could almost believe she lived through it all herself.

I watched her fabulous mouth form words, the way her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, her eyebrows quirking as emotions played across her face. Her eyes were focused inward and far away, like she was narrating an internal film of the events she described. I was stunned by her articulate knowledge, and wondered how she had amassed such rich elements for her story. Her dedication to her craft must rival my own. Maybe she didn't get much sleep either.

Bella was talking about the emergence of new styles of music and stars like Elvis, when something she said snapped me back to the present: "Wait, Isabella went to a Jefferson Airplane concert?"

"At the Fillmore. She lived in San Francisco in the 60s."

"But she would have been in her, oh… her fifties then? Why would she have been interested in what the freaky kids were doing?"

Bella sounded a bit annoyed, "She liked the sounds. She wanted to see the people who made the music. Especially the woman who sang."

"But it wouldn't have been like today, where people of all ages go to a show. A woman that age would be listening to… I don't know… Sinatra, right?"

That defiant look was back, and Bella actually snapped at me, "You disapprove of a woman going to a concert? Perhaps you think she should have had _a husband?"_

"What are you on about, Bella? I'm getting whiplash from your moods! I'm just making conversation, and it struck me as weird, that's all."

She looked chastened, and then thoughtful. "It's _weird?_ How so?"

Now it was my turn to be thoughtful. "Look, Bella, I don't know half what you do about American history. But would someone who was a mother—maybe even a grandmother—in the 1950s have gone to a show by a psychedelic band singing about free sex and drug use?" I watched her face darken as she took in my explanation. She heaved a big sigh.

"Maybe I'm crazy to try this. Maybe this won't work." Was she talking about her book or about our conversation?

"No!" I didn't want to squelch her revealing herself; I had hoped to feed it and see more of it. It excited me to see her excited. "It's just… oh Bella," I reached out without knowing I was doing it, and stroked my finger down her jaw line. She was cool to the touch, and she actually gasped. _Now you've done it, Cullen! The first girl you've been interested in since high school and you've upset her._ I hurried to reassure her, "See, I think you're… it seems like you are writing about yourself…" Her eyes got huge and dark; I rushed on, "I mean, Isabella must be your real name, right? And how could one character have witnessed all that stuff? And you so obviously love all these events you have her seeing…" Bella's hand came up to her face. She looked like I'd kicked her puppy._ Nice going, fucktard!_

"Bella," I started to reach for her again, then dropped my hand when she winced. "I like your idea, using a fictional character to share your research about all the changes throughout the century. But it seems to me that no one woman could have seen it all. So aren't you really just using her as the means to talk about what all that stuff meant? I wonder if readers will get it."

Bella nodded slowly, and her eyes were misty. _Great, you freak, you're gonna make her cry._ "It's all cool, Bella. What I'm saying is… well, I have this professor? He's always pushing me with my music: 'What's your hook, Edward? If you can't explain it, no one listening will get it either.' So what I'm asking is, 'What's your hook, Bella?' What's going to make people want to buy your history story? Is it just your character living through all these amazing events—which is kind of unbelievable—or is it what she's learned from what came after?"

Bella was scowling a little as she sat down her cup. Thinking she might be feeling pretty irritated with me, I looked away. I'd been so caught up in her that I had no idea how much time had passed. It was twilight. The campus path lights were on, surrounded in settling fog. We were alone outside the coffee bar.

I stood up. "Bella, I'm sorry. I've kept you too long."

Then she did a most unexpected thing. She reached across and took my hand in her cold one, pressing her fingers hard into my palm. My skin prickled and buzzed from the contact. "No, Edward, I've enjoyed talking with you."

A huge grin spread over my face. "Me too. I'd like to do it again. I really want to hear more about your book."

She rewarded me with my smile. I felt like I'd do anything if I could just keep seeing that divine expression on her beautiful face.

She stood up, raising a hand to brush her hair behind her shoulders. My eyes followed the grace of her motion, and as the fading light gleamed on her lustrous skin, I saw a strange mark on her neck. It was whiter than her very pale skin, and crescent shaped. Was it a scar? What could make such an odd scar?

I hated thinking about her being hurt. Besides, my mother had raised me right, so I said, "It's dark. Let me walk you to your car."

She could not have surprised me more—and yet I was coming to expect surprises from her—when she let loose a full-throated laugh. I had to laugh with her, she sounded so merry and vibrant. "Oh Edward," she said through her glee, "Protecting _me?!_ Perhaps I should walk _you_ to _your_ car!"

My eyebrows flew to my hairline—_there goes the whiplash_—causing her to bubble up with laughter all over again. For minutes, we were doubled over. I could barely catch my breath to say, "No car! I'm staying with my friend Jasper… whew! Over by the museum."

Bella was still grinning as she said, "Then I'll walk you home."

When she gave me my smile, how could I refuse?


	6. Chapter 6

Author's note: No news that I'm a music dork. So I've been following news about the new Joan Jett flick starring Kristen Stewart. Led me to a Twilight scene on YouTube (well, there were _lots,_ but I didn't actually watch any but this one) where Bella is in the school cafeteria with Edward and he is baiting her to tell him her theories; did you spot the line from that scene in my last chapter?

This chapter is dedicated to one of my devoted readers who followed me from my Sookie Stackhouse stories to this one; she and I abandoned SVMs for Twifics when no one was writing about our favorite angsty obsessive romantic vamp Bill; she and I discovered Edward love and are hooked. She's been going through a bad patch, but is still reading, and I love her for that. D, this is for you.

Music: Gavin DeGraw: _Dancing Shoes;_ Philip Glass: _Dracula;_ Fats Waller: _Handful of Keys;_ Randy Newman: _Louisiana 1927;_ Nicky Hopkins: _Edward;_ Warren Zevon: _Seminole Bingo. _Also when you buy the new Imogen Heap, which of course you will, get the special edition with the all-instrumental CD included; it is completely on "my" Edward's ipod. (I pretty much have _Between Sheets_ on constant loop.)

* * *

**Chapter 5**

As the expression goes, you could have knocked me over with a feather.

Me, laughing uproariously with a human. Charles was never going to believe this. I could hardly wait to call him.

Edward and I started walking toward Burke Museum. I was about to find out where he lived. I should have been worried, but as I'd sat with him, breathing in and out over the berry tea, I discovered that I was growing used to his smell. It tormented me less, until by the time he'd offered to _protect me,_ I could take in big gulps of air to fuel my laughter without venom pooling in my mouth.

What was Charles going to think when I told him that a human wanted to protect me? I was almost giddy, anticipating the conversation. I'd be hitting speed dial the instant I turned away from Edward at his door.

Edward had made me exceedingly uncomfortable. Several times. But something about the earnest way he looked at me, leaning in to hear my thoughts and offering his in return, made me careless. I'd slipped up more in the time spent in his company than I had in all my recent decades. Mentioning seeing 'Fess play was probably the worst, but Edward hadn't pressed me; like most humans, he wasn't all that observant—he couldn't afford to be, really. As a species, they might be resilient, but individual humans are singularly fragile. My typical prey fought harder than most humans ever would.

Charles wouldn't be happy about my slips, but I'd said nothing that truly endangered us. Edward was astonishingly easy to distract. Even now, he was so caught up in my appearance as a woman that he completely missed any number of signs pointing toward my deadliness. Sad that human men are so intent on breeding that they will miss danger signals. My skin. My stillness. My eyes. Even when Edward touched me, his mind refused to process how cool I was.

I called up the feeling of that touch: he was so very warm. His finger pads were slightly callused from his piano playing, and I shivered at the memory of their roughness. Larger than me, he was still so gentle. An image of tearing off his jeans and plunging my mouth over his femoral artery robbed my brain of all sense. Would his… his… _masculinity_ get hard? I swallowed venom and shuddered.

"You're cold, " Edward stopped, pulling off his sweater and draping it around my shoulders. See? Oblivious. The wool was warm from his body and his scent rose off it. I almost choked as venom poured down my throat.

"I already told you, I don't feel the cold," I said, but I made no move to return his sweater. I lifted one sleeve up to my face, inhaling deeply. I knew I'd never give it back. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Edward smile. I shrugged and said, "It smells like you." His smile widened into a lopsided grin and…

… I was flying through the air, the hellish hot air. My hair covered my eyes, so I never saw the cracked gray earth rush up to meet me. But I sucked up a mouthful of punishing dust, and I heard the cracking crunch of my neck as it broke. I tried to scream, but every nerve was dead. There was no pain, there was no feeling, there was nothing but thundering hoof beats fading away… flashing lights… silent torture… screaming agony… my heart… a soft cultured voice… a man… _open your eyes,_ he'd said… my heart… a man…

"Bella!" I heard Edward's voice loud in my ear. I met his eyes. They were dark with worry. I was on my knees on the grass, my chest heaving, my spine bowed forward. Edward touched my shoulder and repeated, "Bella? What happened?"

I swung my head, trying to clear it. I pressed my palms into the damp grass and pushed up. Edward rose next to me, putting a steadying hand under my elbow. I thought what a rare gentleman he was, before realizing I was going to have to say something. I took a lungful of moist night air and expelled it. "I'm okay."

Edward asked again, "What happened?"

Buying some time, I picked up his sweater, where it had fallen on the ground, and said, "I _am_ cold. May I put this on?" He nodded sharply, bathing me in more of his smoky smell. I gathered up the sleeves and slipped them over my arms, sliding the body over my head. I lifted my hair outside the collar and turned to Edward's chuckle. "You're laughing at _me_ now?"

"Sorry. No." He showed me his hands in a truce gesture. "It's just so big on you." His eyes flicked down my body and mine followed. I was swallowed up by his sweater, and I couldn't help but smile. Edward moved toward me, and I instinctively wrapped my arms around my torso. He ducked his head a little, trying to catch my eyes, and I was riveted by the concern in his. I was going to have to tell him.

I looked off into the fogginess on the edge of the trees. "A long time ago, I had a bad accident." I saw his eyes flicker at that, and I looked at him steadily as I continued, "It should have ended my existence. Once in a great while—usually when I'm stressed or thirs… _hungry_—I flash back. It's a bit like fainting…" I shrugged.

"Oh God, Bella," Edward groaned. "I am so sorry." I quirked an eyebrow and he gushed, "I didn't think to feed you. And I badgered you about your book…"

I reached for his hand and held it through the cuff of his sweater where it hung over my own hand. It was nice to touch him without worrying how I'd feel to him. "No. I'll… eat later. I'm fine. Really." Trying not to think about him _feeding_ me, I gave him my most dazzling smile and he visibly relaxed.

He tilted his head toward a lovely old house across the street. "That's where I'm staying." We walked slowly. I still held his hand in my wool-covered one. We climbed up the few steps to a darkened porch, and I turned toward him, looking up into his sea green eyes. They were dark and liquid, and I thought I might drown in them. His voice when he spoke was the same texture as the fog, soft and low.

"I don't like to see you leave. I should be taking you to your car. Especially after…" I reached my free hand up to press on his lips, stopping him from speaking more.

When he pushed his soft lips against my fingers, I knew I _was_ drowning; even though I actually didn't need to, I couldn't get my breath, and I felt like I was suffocating. His hand moved up to hold my face, and I had to close my eyes from the intensity of it all. And just when I thought my world couldn't spin out of control any farther, he kissed me.

8888888888

I cupped her chin in my hand, running my thumb back and forth below her bottom lip. I leaned my forehead against hers. She was panting, and her breath was honey on my face. My eyes lost focus, trying to maintain contact with hers. Was I going to do this? _Oh hell yes._ I tipped her face up and slowly brought my lips to hers. I was surprised how cold she was—was my sweater not warm enough? _God she looked so hot in my sweater_—and I held still, softly pressing my mouth to hers. She seemed frozen. Had she not wanted this as much as I had? My uncertainty made me tremble and she shivered in response, inhaling sharply. Just as I moved to pull back, her hand snaked up my chest and into my hair, fisting hard over my ear.

A low moan escaped me, and her lips moved apart at the sound. Mine followed, and my tongue swept across her bottom lip. My knees almost buckled at her brown sugar taste, and I went to suck her lip in my mouth—girls seemed to like that shit and I was thinking it was an awesome idea myself—when she shoved me so hard I stumbled back.

Her hand covered her mouth, her eyes were wide, and she was shaking. I was pretty sure this wasn't the response I wanted. I ran my hand through my hair. _Make this right, Cullen!_

"Bella? God, I'm sorry. I thought you wanted… I didn't mean…"

She flew at me, colliding hard and knocking me into the door. My breath whooshed out of my chest as her lips crashed into mine. Her fingers gripped tight in my shirt, her knuckles pushing my ribs until it hurt. I grabbed her shoulders, my tongue already sweeping at her mouth, but before I could gain entrance, hers darted into mine, and I was sure I was going to faint. Her tongue was cool and tasted like candy, and I could suck on it all night.

As my mind scrambled for the words that would get her inside, the door opened and I almost fell backwards. As I stumbled across the threshold, my friend Jasper grabbed me to keep me on my feet. "Easy, Grace," he laughed as he gripped me. When I had my balance, he continued, "I thought I heard a knock. Can't find your key?" I flushed at that, glancing at Bella. She was rubbing a fingertip along her lips, making mine tingle in response. I heard Jasper draw in a breath behind me when he spotted her in the spill of light across the porch, and I saw her through his eyes: hair dark and tumbled, lips red, eyes fierce, expression predatory, body exuding grace and power. She reminded me of a cougar. Were she one, her ears would have been flattened to her skull. But instead of the snarl I expected, she smiled, flashing hungry teeth and introduced herself.

At the sound of her mellow, musical voice, Jasper stepped from behind me, offering his hand, "I'm Edward's caretaker, Jasper Whitlock. Come in. Please."

Bella studied at his hand like she didn't quite know what to do, and instead of taking it, she made a vague wave, my sweater sleeve flopping along. She was utterly adorable, and she looked away under the intensity of our stares. She mumbled self-consciously, "No. Thank you. I just wanted to see Edward home safely." That made Jasper guffaw, and _that_ made Bella grin.

"What is it with you two," I huffed, but I could tell Bella knew I was joking. Mostly. "I can take care of myself," I pouted, irritated that Jasper had interrupted.

"Sure you can, Nancy," he snickered, his eyes still on my girl. _My girl? What?! _Well, I _had_ just kissed her and I knew I wanted to do more of that. I shoved him in the shoulder, both for his intrusion and his insult, and he took the hint finally. As he retreated, I heard him mutter "Girly man" under his breath; Bella must have heard, too, because she started laughing again. In an attempt to regain my dignity, I touched a finger to her chin. Her eyes flew to mine and I held them for a long moment before asking, "May I call you?" She nodded, removed her cell from her jeans, and handed it to me. I did the same, and we put in each other's numbers. She fiddled a moment longer before we traded phones.

I leaned forward, seeing her grab her bottom lip in her teeth right before I placed a kiss on her forehead. I moved my lips against her smooth cool skin, "Goodnight, Bella. Be safe." "Goodnight Edward," she breathed against my throat. And she was gone before I even saw her move.

8888888888

I knew I'd moved too fast. But I also knew if I didn't get off that porch, I'd press my teeth into his neck, and I didn't want to kill his friend just for witnessing a murder. He had made me laugh and had made Edward flinch, and I liked him for both those things.

Wondering why I was suddenly noticing human men, I was almost overcome with thirst. I needed to hunt. I ran all the way to my truck and threw myself behind the wheel. I opened "contacts" on my phone and hit the speed dial for Tanya.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's note: Sorry no tunes this time; the computer is backing up the music library to the external drive, and with 64,000 tunes stored, it isn't a process I want to disturb! I'll be back with recommendations next chapter. Since my husband and I are music collectors, specializing in obscurities for some artists and eras, let me know if you are looking for something I've mentioned and can't find; I'm happy to tell you my sources.

* * *

**Chapter 6**

I strolled back to the kitchen, where Jasper was banging around pans. I was high on Bella and apprehensive about Jasper: he was going to have some sort of snarky comment, most likely how it was about time, or how I was going to need to buy a bed.

He looked up over the refrigerator door and gave me the up and down. "What?" I said a little defensively. He went back to rooting around in the fridge, but I heard him clearly, "About time, don't you think?"

"Yes!" I exploded, as much because I was on cloud nine as to head off any more of Jasper's teasing. "Did you _see_ her?" I gushed.

He straightened up with a jar in each hand; he waggled them at me and said, "Alice is coming over. Want to eat with us?" _Great,_ I thought, even as I nodded, _now my sister's gonna fuck with me too!_

Jasper turned to the counter, and started chopping tomatoes. I rolled up my sleeves to help and realized Bella still had my sweater. _When she returned my sweater to me, it was going to smell like her._ I repeated, my voice excited like a girl's, "Did you see her, Jazz?"

He turned vivid blue eyes on me and sighed out, "Yes, Mary, I _saw_ her. And yes, she's gorgeous."

"Isn't she?!" I exclaimed, running my hands through my hair, remembering her fist knotting above my ear. I sighed heavily, and asked, "What can I do?"

"Put some olive oil in the pan."

"About _Bella,_ bitch."

Jasper scraped tomatoes into the pan and fingered some capers out of a bottle. He absently sucked the brine off his fingers, deliberately keeping me in suspense. "Fuck her?" he proposed, lifting one eyebrow at me. I flung a spoon at him, which he neatly dodged, saying, "Cut too close to the boner, did I?"

"No," I said, responding to the first question as I plopped down at the table. Jasper snorted, so I amended, "Yes. Of course." I absently picked at a piece of dried cereal. "Remember I told you about the girl I saw in class who made me hear music…" I trailed off, something tickling at the base of my brain.

His back to me, stirring at the sizzling pan, Jasper said, "She's the one?"

"Yes," I said, and then it hit me: "Hold on: it was when she _didn't_ come to class that I heard music! When I'm with her, I don't hear _anything!" _My voice wasmounting in excitement again.

"What are you on about now?" Jasper asked, digging mushrooms from a jar.

I jumped up, swinging my arms, feeling crazy with building emotions. "I spent the whole afternoon with her, Jazz, and I didn't hear any music! The entire time we talked, there were no notes running through my head!"

"Dude," Jasper said, whether to calm me down or because he didn't believe me, I wasn't sure. He'd known me almost all my life, and he understood that music was my constant companion; the relentless drumming of my fingers that most people took for nerves was just me playing the melodies that coursed through my brain. Jasper had long grown used to—as had everyone close to me—how I lost track of conversations and actions, surrendering to the tunes commanding my attention. How often had I bolted from the table mid-meal, left the computer mid-email, or broken off a phone call without so much as goodbye to pursue the sirens calling in my veins? The din of notes was exhausting, but there was no way to turn it all off. Usually, I caved, going without food, rest, and companionship to sit at the piano or scribble in my staff book. Going for a run helped, and now… I could hardly wait to test my theory with Bella again. Did she somehow clear out my head, even as she inspired me? What. The. Fuck. I wondered how soon I could call her.

"Earth to Dickward," Jasper called, bringing my attention back to the job at hand. "Make the pasta," he commanded.

As I was filling the pot with water, the door burst in, carrying with it the tiny cyclone that was my sister. Her dark hair stood out every which way, her eyes sparkled, and she trailed some sort of bridal veil material that was swathed around her bitty waist. She babbled from the moment she entered until she threw herself into Jasper's arms and he silenced her with a kiss. The second his lips released hers, she started up again: "Where does the time go I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner Edward I'm glad to see you I thought you'd be in the music hall but I need to talk with you about an idea I had about Halloween and oh Jazz I thought you could be a like a tall ship captain and I could be your cabin boy cuz I found these darling knee pants at the thrift—"

"Alice!" I blurted.

She bounced on her toes, grinning. "Yes, dear darling brother?"

I hesitated a second too long asking her help with salad, so Jasper rushed into the opening with "Big E has a girlfriend."

Now, I have rarely—ever?—seen Alice speechless. But her wee jaw actually dropped. She worked it up and down a few times and then: "Oh my dawg you are kidding me how did you meet her does she go to school here is it someone I know—" before her eyes narrowed in suspicion and she turned to Jasper, _"You_ met her?!"

Jasper dodged the delicate fist she flung at him, moving directly into the open handed smack she delivered to his arm with her other hand; Alice had never fought fair. Comes from being so small. "Ow!" Jasper cried, and Alice repeated, "You met her? Tell me all." And she perched on the table edge, swinging her feet. I noticed her socks were two different patterns, before turning to start the salad. There'd be no help until Alice heard everything.

I was content to let Jasper spill, while I rinsed the spinach. She squealed ear-splittingly when Jasper said he'd opened the door on the kiss, and I sighed. _Here comes the inquisition…_

"You've kissed her?! How long have you known her?"

I looked from Alice to Jasper and back; they wore identical expressions of rabid curiosity. Those two had tried to hook me up, distracting me with classmates and acquaintances, to no avail. If I told them I didn't know Bella—yet—I'd never get away from them to call her. "Well," I hedged. "We have a class together."

I expected Alice to pounce on the fact that school had only started a couple of weeks ago, and she did, calling me a slut. Then she asked for a detailed description of Bella's looks, including what sort of clothes she wore. That I could do, I thought, relieved.

"She's stunning," Jasper blurted before I could get a word out, and Alice flew off the table, grabbing his shoulders and hanging there, her small but deadly feet thumping his legs. "More than me?" Alice growled into Jasper's neck. "What the hell, Pixie! You're stunning _me_ right now," Jasper tried to shake her off, stumbling into the hall. I heard wrestling, muffled grunts, and then the unmistakable noises of lips and lust. Raising my voice louder than necessary, I hollered, "Dinner now, dessert later," and started filling bowls.

Alice danced back into the kitchen, her hair even more on end (a family trait we shared) and her little jean jacket askew. She started tugging on a wine bottle, before Jasper stepped in to open it, and I transferred dishes to the table. Jasper poured and Alice raised her glass, "To Edward getting some."

Jasper rejoined, "I'll drink to that."

I just tipped my glass to my lips and downed the entire contents.

"Man, you are so going to have to get a bed," Jasper said and I couldn't help but laugh.

8888888888

After more grilling from Alice, and more food than I'd eaten for days, my best friend and my sister drifted upstairs to make their own music, while I stretched out on the couch. I wondered if it was too late to call Bella. As I sipped the last of my wine, holding my phone and debating what to do, it happened again: notes started tumbling around me, twirling in and around the incomplete refrain of "Waiting." The phone and the wine forgotten, my hands sought the piano and I was playing before I sat down.

I knew I wasn't a poet. I wasn't a painter dividing and subdividing phrases to produce light and shade. I wasn't a dancer, expressing thoughts and sentiments in gestures and pantomime. As a musician, I do it with tone and also with silence; sometimes the lack of notes held more eloquence than whole runs tumbling down the scales.

I knew what I was doing was just a sketch, really. What I do, and what all composers do almost without exception, is write a sketch. I'd have to demo it—create a pretty good representation electronically: three flutes, an oboe, cello. Filling in the sounds so when I shopped it around, directors could hear what I was going for. I'd heard most directors were pretty poor at listening to a piano sketch and understanding where a composer was going with it. So making a demo with orchestral sounds was important. I needed better samples for my computer. I'd have to talk to my dad about the money. It would be a pity if I composed this music for nothing. Or so my family and my professors kept telling me. Didn't they understand I had to play these notes? It was like oxygen—just as involuntary as it was necessary. So many of the music majors I met acted like music was the same as doing laundry: a chore capable of producing desired results.

My fingers rolled over the keys. My thoughts wandered. Where was Bella? Was she sleeping? I imagined her hair decorating her pillow like silk embroidery, her dark lashes laying on her cheeks. Her rose red lips—_delicious, I now knew_—were softly parted, her slender fingers curled on the blanket. One smooth foot had kicked out of the covers, exposing pretty toes. Suckable. My cock liked the idea of me sucking on her toes. Did she sleep naked? Would she let me into her bed? Would she let me into her dreams?

I played for hours. Debussy, ragtime, stride, Lennon, but always returning back to "Waiting," those same chords and runs slipping effortlessly from my fingers. It must have been close to morning—I couldn't stand to have a clock in the room—when Jasper lurched in, his blond curls matted to his head, his knuckles rubbing his eyes, wearing rumpled pajama pants printed with cowboys—no doubt an Alice purchase. "Get some rest, Edward," he said, his voice fuzzy from sleep. He yawned hugely and scratched his chest, before turning to go. "Nice tune," he said over his shoulder, and reaching out, he clicked off the light, leaving me in the dark.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's note: Most of the Twifics I've read cast Tanya as a nemesis; since I don't own any SMeyer books, I took the opportunity to scan through a few pages in a bookstore. I gleaned almost nothing in such a quick search, so my Tanya really is almost entirely made up and may be hugely OOC. But I thought it was fitting that she was Bella's vampire friend, since Bella needs Tanya's particular brand of help.

After the last chapter, someone asked me if I knew what Edward's composition "Waiting" sounds like; I do, but it's not a recording that exists. Sadly, it is as imaginary as he is. When you review, tell me what _you_ think it sounds like.

Good music: Tim Finn: _Crescendo;_ Lisa Germano: _Wood Floors;_ Claude Debussy: _Clair de lune _(as played by Leon Fleisher); Jon Dee Graham: _How Much I Love You;_ Jace Everett: _Bad Things;_ Giacomo Puccini: _Nessum Dorma_ (from the opera _Turandot;_ of course, Paul Potts stunned the reality show groupies with his rendition on _Britain's Got Talent _in 2007, but you simply can't beat Luciano Pavarotti at the top of his game); The Cure: _Why Can't I Be You;_ Nick Drake: _Know._

* * *

**Chapter 7**

"Bella, how are you?"

Tanya's sweet voice instantly put me at ease; it had been too long since I'd talked to her, and yet she was my best friend. Almost a sister, really.

I held back a contented sigh, and responded, "Actually, the answer to that question is why I've called." I could hear Tanya's hair whipping against the phone, "Windy in Denali?"

"Wait, let me get in the trees. If I lose you, I'll call you." I heard scrambling and then Tanya was back, "Bella, is that better?"

"Yes. Did I catch you hunting?"

"All done. Kate and I were just snow diving, but she's run on ahead. Where are you?

"Olympic," I replied, naming the gorgeous wilderness west of the city where I often hunted my most desired prey.

"Cougar?" Tanya guessed, knowing I enjoyed taking cats.

"In a bit," I said, trying to sound casual. _Let's see: chatting on the phone or sinking my face in a hot struggling wild thing; how could I possibly choose?_ I couldn't fool Tanya. She knew me better than anyone save Charles.

Her voice was crisp, "What's up, Bella?"

"Tanya," I hesitated, suddenly feeling silly. "I've met someone."

I had to jerk the phone from my ear as Tanya whooped a piercing bark of laughter. With the phone at arm's length, I could still hear her say, "Who is it? I didn't know there was anyone new around."

"He's not one of us." I said it softly, but of course she'd hear anyway. There was a long pause.

"Oh." Tanya sighed. "Oh, I see." Well, at least now she knew why I'd called.

"What you want isn't easy," Leave it to Tanya to cut to the chase. Pretty much literally.

"Nothing about my existence is easy," I could hear the pout in my voice. _"You_ do it."

"And I killed quite a few learning," she said quietly.

"I know."

"There's a lot you _don't_ know!" Was she angry? "Bella, I wasn't a virgin when I started bedding humans. I had a fair amount of practice going in, and I still killed the first few!"

"But… I want this," now I _was_ whining. "I'm controlling the blood lust. I… I kissed him."

"Oh Beauty," she called me by my pet name, the one she'd called me ever since Charles took me to Alaska to teach me how to be… what I'd become. Less of a monster. More like him, and Tanya, and her sisters. A hunter, but not of humans. "Why do you want to do this?"

"I just have to. He smells so good. Better than anyone, ever. His pulse… sings to me."

I heard Tanya's sharp intake of air, "He's your singer?"

Alone, in the middle of nowhere, I still hushed my voice as though the very universe would hear me and smite me down. "Charles thinks so."

"What else does Charles think?"

"That I should try to stay at school. But that I should leave rather than kill the man."

"What's this man's name?"

"Edward."

"Nice. A bit old fashioned, just like you, eh, Beauty?" The teasing tone was back in her voice, and then I knew she was going to help me. She continued, "I'm guessing you can't come for a visit?"

"No. I'm finally ready to start the book. And there's Edward. The more I'm near him, the less… _demanding_ his scent is."

"Well, this would be easier in person. But okay. Let's sit and get comfortable." I heard movement on Tanya's end of the phone and figured she was sitting down; I pictured her gathering back her thick, strawberry blond hair, sinking gracefully to the ground. We never actually need to sit, but some habits are hard to break, and it sounded like we might be here for a while.

"I'm assuming you know the basics," Tanya wasn't asking a question, so I didn't form an answer. "And you know how breakable humans are. It will be all too easy for you to exert enough force to hurt him. And you know you can get blood lust confused with sexual lust. If you let yourself go too much, you can swiftly get overwhelmed and bite him without thinking."

"Yes, I know all this," I wished she'd stop babying me. I said as much.

"I want to make sure we have all our assumptions out on the table. What you want to do will take careful planning. At least at first. If you truly don't want to kill him—"

"—I don't, Tanya; Charles would be deeply disappointed in me if that happened."

I heard her exhale, whether from exasperation or indecision, I could not tell.

"Yes. Well then. You will have to let him be the aggressor. At least until you are more experienced and know your limits." She snorted, "Or should I say _his_ limits?!"

"What do you mean?" All this beating around the bush (so to speak) was making me querulous.

"He may like it rough."

"Oh." I could feel a night of internet exploration coming on. As if she'd read my thoughts, Tanya said, "You might want to consider watching some porn."

"Ew, Tanya. I like Edward. I want to be friends, not fiends."

"Beauty, you are not going to believe what will happen to you when you have sex. The more you have, the more you will want," as Tanya grew more serious, her faint Russian accent thickened. "And when you… learn… to be successful at it, you won't be able to get enough."

"It won't be like that," I started, but she cut me off harshly.

"I'm not joking, Bella. You asked me, and I'm telling you. You will be replacing your need for his blood with your need for his body and you will wear him out. He may not even realize it at first, but _you_ must be aware, or you will kill him with love just as surely as you would with your teeth."

I thought about Edward's metallic dark red hair. I thought about his fingertip on my jaw. His thigh muscles moving under his jeans. The intensity in his emerald eyes as he looked over his glasses at me. I knew what she said was true.

I muttered to myself, "I can't do this."

"You can." Tanya's voice held a steady strength, like water carving rock. "You just have to want it more than you want anything. You have to want his safety. You have to want to protect him. You may even have to be willing to love him—at least for the time you are with him."

Love. My human life had been all about survival; there was no love. I had to leave behind my humanity to find love. Certainly I loved Tanya. Renee. And Charles. I loved my family with a fierce protectiveness. I could never let anything bad happen to them.

I thought back to laughing with Edward over his need to see me to my truck. He'd wanted to protect me from harm; he simply couldn't imagine the sort of harm that was already in me. I was the thing that _others_ needed protection from. Even as I laughed with him, I had wanted to see him home. See him safe. So I could see him again.

I realized Tanya had asked me a question. "I'm not sure. Maybe I could love him. He's very… beautiful. His voice is like blood, if blood were a sound. He moves like he should be hunting. And I already want his safety. I don't want anything to happen to him."

"That's a start," Tanya sounded relieved. "Tell me about kissing him."

I hesitated. This was all getting so personal. I made a noise in frustration, but I pushed my thoughts forward. Closing my eyes, I called up the feeling of his thumb, warm and smooth, rubbing my lip. It was so gentle, but even the memory made a heaviness grow between my legs. And when I'd actually tasted his tongue, my dead heart surged in the cage of my chest. I told Tanya these things. I told her that when he pulled away, it was like he was pulling a part of me with him, and that I leapt at him to get it back—to get _him_ back. That I'd pushed him hard into the door of his house, feasting on his mouth.

"Did you hurt him?"

"I'm not sure… no. I don't think so. His friend opened the door; I hadn't heard the approach. I was trapped by his eyes. He was pinning me in place. I could feel his look like a physical force. Like gravity. Pulling me towards him."

"Yes," I heard the confirmation in Tanya's voice and I asked, "Is this how it feels for you?"

She only repeated, "Yes."

We talked for an hour. She emphasized that my movements could bruise him or even break him. I could not take any part of him into my mouth; the risk was too great. She admonished me repeatedly that I would want to, that I would overflow with uncontrolled desire to suck his tongue, his earlobes, his lips, his fingers, his… manhood. Even as I cringed at the idea, I knew she was putting into words thoughts I'd already had. She also told me that he would want me to do these things—would beg me—and would be disappointed when I refused. She warned that the very presence of venom in my mouth and my instinct to bite could harm Edward before I even knew I'd sliced him.

She gave me so many ideas of ways I could distract and fulfill him that my head was spinning both from the novelty and from the consuming need aroused in me by her explanations. Even though I admitted to occasionally bringing myself to orgasm, she urged me to practice a lot, so that I could direct Edward how to bring about my pleasure, and therefore his. That it was important I understood all my body's responses, learn them thoroughly so that I could concentrate on his feelings rather than my own. She told me to get a vibrator.

I was beginning to get squicked by the clinical nature of what I'd hoped would be something more romantic, when Tanya shocked me by asking, "How will you tell him what you are?"

"What?!" I blurted. "I'll never!"

"You may have to."

"Surely _you_ don't!"

"No. But I've had many years of practice at dazzling men. Human men are simple: they see that I have physical attributes they like, they want me, they think they love me—they don't register the chill of my skin, the lack of heartbeat or sweat or blush. If Edward isn't completely in your thrall, he will—at the very least—be shaken when he enters you and you are cold. Until he adjusts, he may not maintain his erections."

"Gaaaah!" I snarled in frustration. "This is impossible!" I was almost shouting my dismay.

Tanya pushed ahead, "Have sex in the shower or the bath, with the hottest water he can stand. Hunt often and drink as much as you can hold right before you are with him. Invest in some warming lubricant—you may even like the flavors. Learn to enjoy getting yourselves off while watching each other. And talk to Charles about dazzling."

I muttered at that, but she overrode my unspoken objection, "I know your family doesn't exactly approve of deceiving humans unnecessarily, Beauty. But if you are going to be sexual with Edward, some level of… influence is required. For his safety. For yours.

"Talk to Charles."

I assured her I would, but I'd had enough for one night. Maybe for one life. I told Tanya to give my love to her sisters for me, and said goodbye.

She was right about one thing. I needed to hunt. All the thinking about Edward, imagining removing his clothes, touching his heat, tasting his skin, made the venom positively flow. If I didn't get my teeth into something hot I might go mad. Hunting was always exhilarating, but right now my body was thrilling with something else entirely. The only name I could give it was Edward.

I ran deeper into the woods, silent. My feet barely skimmed the pine needles. Running was electrifying, glorious, liberating. It was when I could truly be myself: complete predator. Absolute beast. Perfect monster. I could fling off all pretensions at humanity and rip open the vault of my heavily guarded demons. I could leave myself behind as I outraced my fears.

As my legs found a ground-eating rhythm, I replayed Edward's velvety voice describing how he loved to run. How could he know the thrill that charged through me at his admission? Running with Edward—even at his slow pace—would be heaven. His temperature rising. The salted aroma of his sweat. His heart thudding, driving the pulse in his throat. I pushed my legs to go faster, to outrun the want that was crinkling my nipples.

Would he want to see me hunt? Doubtful. Humans liked their violence imaginary, mediated, choreographed, explained. And I would never reveal my nature to him. That would complicate my life immeasurably. But wasn't I already doing that? By befriending the man? By considering… _relations_ with him?

The breeze shifted in my direction and I stopped dead. _Dead._ I almost laughed. Now was not the time to giggle. I went into a crouch instinctively. My body did not need my mind to accomplish what it wanted. What had Edward said? _Lose my mind and come to my senses?_

I wanted to do that more than I'd ever wanted anything. So when the lion slipped through the leaves, it was only with my eyes that I saw his fluid motion. It was only my ears that heard his faint chuffing of breath and the subliminal thrum of heart beats. It was only my nose pulling in his buttery smell. It was my mouth that ran with sweet sticky venom. My legs that launched me to meet his leap mid-air. My arms that clamped like vises, popping his rib cage. My teeth that slid through gritty fur and corded muscle. My throat that gulped down throbbing blood. But it was my mind conjuring Edward, twisting in my grasp, gasping under my hands, bucking inside my thighs, and with his hot release, stitching his soul to mine.

888888888

Renee answered the phone. Her voice twinkled with delight when she told me Charles had just gotten off a call from Tanya. I bristled at the disloyalty, even as logic told me this was nothing new; I'd simply never had reason to be so protective of my privacy before. _Protective._ There it was again: without a doubt I wanted to look after Edward and shield him from all that was bad in the world. Yet didn't that mean avoiding him at all costs? I was a spinning ball of apprehension by the time Charles came to the phone.

"I'm glad you spoke with Tanya," he started right in.

"I'm less happy _you_ did," I retorted.

He didn't have to say I was being childish; I could hear it in his voice. "We are concerned, Bella. Tanya and I can help you, but only if we discuss your needs."

"I'm not a child, Charles," I said, growing more petulant by the minute.

"Then don't act like one," his voice cut me. I bit back my resentment.

"Bella," Charles' voice was soft, but tight with control; I was frustrating him. I was frustrating _me_. I wrestled my irritation and nervousness, and focused on his words, "I have never done what you are thinking of attempting. I cannot advise you on this. Only Tanya can guide you. Only she knows how difficult a task you are setting for yourself."

I sighed out a breath I hadn't known I was holding. "Oh Charles, what am I doing?" I rarely wished I could still cry, but now was one of those times. If I didn't release all this pent-up anxiety, I'd just plain pop.

He said carefully, "I think what you are doing—perhaps for the first time ever—is following your heart. And Renee and I, and Tanya, want to help you do that successfully." When Charles measured his words, I knew to pay attention.

I was too emotional. My control was stretched so thin I could read a newspaper through it. "Just say it, Charles," I snapped. "Just say you've been waiting decades for me to have sex. You've been waiting since you changed me for me to find love. That you rescued me from a loveless—_hell yes!_—a lifeless marriage, hoping you and I would be together. And when that didn't happen, and you found Renee, and she was your singer, you couldn't rest until you'd find that for me." Now I was sobbing, dry coughing gasps ripping my lungs. I forced my voice out, desperate to say what I knew they were all talking about behind my back, "That I'm not complete—that I won't be fulfilled without a man in my life!"

My whole body was heaving with the effort of spitting out these awful thoughts, and I knew I was being spiteful and ungrateful. Again. Minutes of silence stretched between us as I struggled to rein in my emotions. Finally I couldn't bear the mounting tension and I whispered, "Charles, please say something."

I was expecting the flat tone I'd heard him take with clients wrecked by dread and horror and grief; instead his voice was sweet and loving, "You told Tanya that Edward was your singer."

I laughed in relief, "Actually she told me."

"And she said you kissed him."

I felt my spine straighten, and my voice emerged strong and steady, "Charles, minutes ago I drank down a mountain lion, and its taste couldn't compare to the perfection of Edward's mouth. I'd give up my place in heaven for his kisses."

"Well then, daughter, everything else is just mechanics."


	9. Chapter 9

Author's note: Yar, you caught me: did Charles change Bella in the early 1800s or the early 1900s? San Xavier (where Charles found Bella after her accident) was founded at the very end of the 17th century, and Bella was born there in the early 19th century; but she spent her first decades as a vampire fighting her nature, even as she gave in to its worst side. She likely didn't start "Isabella's" journals until the beginning of the 20th century, as a way of processing and coming to peace with her immortality.

Music: Michael Nyman: _Drowning By Numbers_ (soundtrack for the movie by Peter Greenaway; if you think Twilight has anything to do with obsession, lust, certainty, uncertainty, and desire, you've never seen a Peter Greenaway film; you might consider starting with _The Pillow Book_).

* * *

**Chapter 8**

I waited until a reasonable hour to call Bella; I hoped eight wasn't too early.

"Edward?" she sounded confused, but not from sleep.

"Sorry to call so early, but I was going for a run and hoped you could meet me for coffee afterwards. Did I wake you?"

"Not at all," I could hear a smile in her delicious voice. "I believe I told you I don't sleep… "

I smiled in return, "I couldn't sleep either. Might I hope I had something to do with your not sleeping?" I wanted her to say she'd been thinking of me all night, just as I had her.

"Well," she hesitated, and then surprised me with, "I _did_ actually talk to a friend about you."

"You did?" I could feel my throat tightening in anticipation. "What did you… why?"

Bella laugh was pure music, and my fingers itched to play those notes. "She's wanted me to… meet someone special…for a long time now."

_Breathe, Cullen!_ "You… told your friend I'm _special?"_

There was a pause, then Bella's voice came low and soft and almost purring, "Yes. I did."

"Wow," I exhaled. My brain was bubbling at the idea that this smart, engaging, beautiful girl found me special.

"Edward?" _Uh oh, say something, Mr. Smoothie!_

"Yeah. So. I'd like to hear more about your book. Are you free in about an hour?"

"Are you going for your run now?"

"I was. Unless you'd rather get tea now?"

"I was wondering…" Bella's voice was hesitant again. _Don't lose her, moron!_

I blurted," Anything!" _Oh you're quite the player, aren't you, Cullen._ "I mean, I don't have anything scheduled all day so I can be yours whenever you're free." I could feel my face heating up; how had I gotten into my twenties and was still such a dork?

"Mm, I like the idea of you being mine," Bella murmured, and I was seriously considering passing out from excitement, when she blew me away by asking, "I'd like to run with you, if that's okay."

Whoa. She liked to run? It made sense; she was so graceful, so slender yet toned, like a cat or a snake. Bella, running beside me—I'd likely have to slow down; even with her long legs, she wouldn't have my stride—her lips parted, panting, a bead of sweat rolling down her neck, her hair bouncing behind her. My cock was loving this idea.

"I'd love it," I managed to say without moaning. "Where shall I meet you?"

"Be on your porch in ten minutes." She clicked off.

Yikes! I started digging though the laundry bag leaning in the corner, hoping for a clean shirt and briefs, tore off last night's clothes, tugged a gray tee shirt over my head, dumped the bag out on the floor, searching—running shorts? Sweatpants? _Gaaahhh!_

I pounded up the stairs full tilt, in only tee shirt, briefs and socks, skidding through Jasper's door without knocking; he and Alice lay tangled together. I barely spared them a glance as I banged drawers open and shut. Jasper groaned and sat up. His voice cracked from sleep, "What are you doing, you unholy queen?"

"Running. With Bella," I said over my shoulder as I dug through a drawer.

Jasper waved at a basket of fresh laundry, just as Alice croaked, "Brother, put on some pants!"

I upended the basket to Jasper's complaints, grabbing a pair of black basketball shorts, and attempted to jump into them as I slid, _Risky Business_ style, to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth and looked at myself in the mirror. I blew out a disgusted breath: my hair was utterly hopeless, sticking out every which way and falling over my eyes. I ran my fingers through it again and again, only succeeding in making it stand on end. I threw myself down the stairs, slipping off the bottom one, and launched myself under the piano for my Nikes. I fished my debit card out of my wallet, pushing it and the door key inside the little pouch I wore around my neck when I ran. I dashed out to the porch, slamming the door behind me with a minute to spare.

I was looking cool and collected, one leg propped on the railing in a hamstring stretch when I saw Bella trotting across the street. I couldn't help staring.

She was wearing black leggings that made her legs seem five feet long. Her dusk blue athletic top was skin tight, with a racer back that left her perfect shoulders bare. Her hair was caught up in a sloppy, high ponytail that left tendrils curling down her neck. As she stepped up on the porch, I couldn't help but reach to move one back behind her ear. She gave me my smile, and I thought how wonderful it would be to see that smile every morning for the rest of my life.

Even as I couldn't believe I'd thought that, I was certain it was true. I'd only spent hours with this woman, but I knew that days—years—wouldn't be enough. I could hear Emmett's raucous voice in my head: _dude, you haven't even fucked her yet!_ My dad, who had treated his fair share of domestic abuse victims at the hospital, would say _you know nothing about her!_ My sister-in-law Rose would just dismiss me with a scowl. But none of that mattered as I lifted Bella's hand and brushed my lips lightly across her knuckles.

As I looked in her eyes, her gaze flicked behind me and she broke into a glorious grin. She reached up and fingered the tag at the neck of my tee shirt, teasing, "Got dressed in a hurry?" I groaned as I realized my shirt was on inside out, and I self-consciously ran my hands through my hair.

"Bella," I confessed, "I'm afraid what you see is what you get."

She lifted up on her toes and brushed her cool, silky lips against mine. As she dropped down on her heels, she captured my gaze, looking in me in that way I'd noticed since the very first time I saw her. She whispered, "Then it's a good thing I like what I see," before flying off the porch like a rocket.

I stood stunned for all of four seconds, before her voice yelled back to me, "Are you running or not?" I took the steps in one leap, following my heart.

88888888

By the time we'd made a full circuit around the campus and stopped at the coffee shop, I was gulping air and soaking wet. Bella hadn't broken a sweat and looked like she could still go miles. Her skin glowed like pearls, her eyes were dark and sparkling, her ponytail was falling apart, and she kept flicking out her pointed pink tongue to moisten her bottom lip. _God I wanted her._

I leaned over, hands to knees, trying to fill my lungs, while Bella danced circles around me, bouncing on the balls of her feet and throwing short jabs with her fists. I looked up at her through the wet tangle of my hair to catch her gleeful smirk. I lunged at her, grabbing her waist and spinning her around; she pressed her hands on my shoulders and threw back her head, giggling with delight, while I puffed and wheezed. As I let her slide down my body, she planted a chaste peck on my lips. I was quite simply dazzled.

I pulled out a chair, which she took with a thank you, and I said, "I'm getting something cold. How 'bout you?"

She shook her head, more hair falling from her ponytail, and said, "No, I liked that tea." I arched an eyebrow at her; how was she not baking after that run?

"I'm gonna get a muffin—anything for you?"

She shook her head, and I said, "I didn't feed you yesterday and you scared me when you got all woozy on me."

"I already ate," she said, but it was almost like she was being nice. I sincerely hoped she wasn't one of those women who refused to eat in public for fear they seemed piggish or spilled food on themselves. She never even finished her tea—was that just yesterday?

She scrunched her face at me and said, "You don't have to take care of me, Edward."

"I'm beginning to like taking care of you, Bella," I admitted before ducking inside to place our order.

I watched Bella look at her phone, wondering where in that outfit she hid even something as slim as an iphone, and tried not to stare. She sat perfectly at ease, and after tapping out a text, she sank into that stillness I'd noticed about her before. She was not just motionless, but… _not there. _It was other-worldly and unnerving and just fucking weird, but it was also breathtaking. I didn't buy into all that girly shit about guardian angels and stuff, but if there were such things, I imagined they hid among us by being just. That. Still.

I picked up our drinks—the biggest iced coffee for me and raspberry tea again for Bella, plus a whopping blueberry muffin so I could really embarrass myself—and returned to our table. Bella immediately grabbed her tea and inhaled over it, just like yesterday.

I watched Bella breathe in her tea. Her thick hair was unraveling from her hair clip. I reached to take it out, releasing a torrent of mahogany, russet, chocolate, and burnished cherry. She swung her head, tumbling her hair down her back, and my fingers ached to dive into that silken glory and tangle there forever.

I took a big swig of coffee to distract myself, and said," So tell me more about your book—and I promise I'll be quiet this time."

"That would be a shame" Bella murmured over her cup. "I could listen to your voice all day." Her shining eyes bore into mine.

I wiggled in my seat like a happy puppy, a goofy grin spreading across my face. Just for something to do, I took off my glasses to wipe them on my shirt. She watched me in that unnerving way she had, and when I moved to put my glasses on, she stopped me with one smooth cool finger on my wrist.

"Is your vision very flawed?"

"These are mostly for distance. Without them, things are fuzzy. I can see fine up close with them off."

"How do I look?" Was she flirting? Whether it was innocent or calculated, she was making my heart flutter in my chest.

I took a long look at her. The overcast sky made her skin shimmer like satin. There was a faint darkness around her eyes—the sleepless nights?—making them seem huge and infinitely deep. Strands of hair moved across her bare shoulders like calligraphy. Her arms, propped on the table cradling her tea, were strong and capable, but completely feminine. I imagined them wrapped around me, pulling me close.

"Like an angel," I sighed.

She smiled into her cup.

"Leave them off? For me? Your eyes are so… beautiful." She ducked her chin at her admission, and her see-sawing mix of boldness then shyness was confusing and totally hot. I wanted more.

I put my glasses on the table, saying, "Then I'm happy to leave them off. Don't let me forget them, okay?" She made a small nod. "Bella," I felt I had to address the growing question in my mind, "what _is_ this?" I motioned to the space in between us.

Her eyes focused out to the trees on the campus' edge. Instead of answering me directly, she asked, "Do you remember the first day of class?"

"Very well," I said, wanting to convey in those two small words that I would never forget seeing her for the first time.

"It was raining," she mused. She let the silence grow between us for long seconds. When she spoke, it was like she was talking to herself; I almost felt like I was intruding on something deeply personal. "Your hair was wet. You shook your head hard and sprayed me."

Was that why she left? I'd somehow offended her with my caveman actions?

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean…" She raised her hand in a "stop" gesture.

"You were flushed," she continued. Her words were hypnotizing me; I couldn't believe she had taken in all this about me when I'd assumed she had barely seen me. "You took off your sweater and… I could… smell you…"

Before I could be embarrassed by my unintended body odor malfunction, she knocked my socks off with her confession: "It was scrumptious.

_You_ were scrumptious. I was, um, sort of… _overcome_ by it."

"You left class… because of me?" I couldn't believe what she was telling me.

She nodded. "It was either that or jump you and take you to the ground."

I remembered her gasp and it wasn't just my cock growing hard at the recollection: my whole body was getting erect at the thought that she had noticed me, been affected by me, wanted more of me as I had come to want more of her.

"Why didn't you say something?" I hated the plaintive tone in my voice. "You disappeared for days."

It was her turn to look taken aback, "You noticed that?"

"Yes!" I blurted, then collected myself before admitting, "I looked for you. You made me hear music."

And there was my smile. "Music?" she said, her voice brimming with soft satisfaction.

All this sudden rush of emotion was making me inexplicably shy. I looked down at my fingers, crumbling my muffin, and sighed," Yes. There's a piece of music I've been working on… or rather, _not_ working on. It's been cock-blocking me, actually." I noticed her shift in her seat; was my language making her uncomfortable? I pressed on, wanting her to hear this, "But when I looked for you in class, and you never showed up, I heard… something broke loose in me and the notes just poured out " She was really grinning now, and it gave me courage to say what I'd been thinking, "You gave me _music,_ Bella. That's never happened to me before."

She looked a bit skeptical at that, "But just yesterday you were listing all those piano players that inspire you."

"Yeah, sure. I listen to as much music as I can—I even try to emulate different players. It helps me push my limits, playing in ways that aren't natural to me.

"But what I'm talking about wasn't like that; it was like I wanted to see you so much, and your absence made this big hole in me, and I was looking at the place you'd been sitting before, and without even thinking, that place just filled up with music.

"And it was _exactly_ the music I'd been looking for."

For a long while, we just looked at each other. Right when I said, "I'd like to play it for you." Bella asked, "Would you play it for me?" We both laughed. I felt like the air around us was rippling with our combined energy. I continued, "It's far from complete. I'm not really ready to share it. But I want to share everything with you."

Something shifted in her eyes. "Speaking of sharing…" her sentence hung between us.

Finally I had to urge her to speak. She lifted her chin, in that way I was beginning to understand meant she wouldn't be challenged on what she was about to say. She held my eyes and said, "I enjoy your company." I nodded, willing her to continue. "And I think you are attractive." I was holding my breath. "Edward?" she whispered.

"I'm a virgin."


	10. Chapter 10

Author's note: some of you are too young to remember a very popular ad campaign for the Yellow Pages—Bella, however, is not. I haven't been around quite as long as my Bella, but when I was a teen, "LYFDTW" was an oft-quoted euphemism among my girlfriends.

I see my readers from the UK and Oz and Finland and Ireland—such beautiful places; please review and say hello/cheers/g'day/hei/Dia dhuit—I would be thrilled to hear from you! (Well, _all_ of my readers, actually!)

Music ideas: Angelo Badalamenti's soundtrack for _Twin Peaks;_ also his work with chanteuse Julee Cruise.

* * *

**Chapter 9**

I could smell him as I crossed his street: soap, mint, the warm yeasty scent of his skin, and all male. After he touched his lips to my hand, I thought I'd collapse if I couldn't touch him back. He looked a bit flustered and his shirt was inside out, so I reached up, using that as an excuse to brush my fingertips along his collar. I absolutely hated that Tanya was right: the more I touched him, the more I wanted to. He was wearing knee-length shorts made from sweatshirt material, and it moved along his thighs, revealing then hiding his muscles. It was maddening. I hadn't seen so much of his skin before. His arms and legs were dusted with fine hairs the color of Italian sunlight, his calves were strong and his forearms were just sinful. When he pushed his long fingers through that glorious mane of hair, his scent swept over me and I was certain I was going to eat him right on his porch.

Instead, I kissed him.

Well, Tanya had said I needed to learn my body's responses—I was nothing if not a good student.

Glad to have the excuse to move, I launched off the porch—_too fast! Slow down!_—and taunted Edward to keep up. _He could try_. I was going to show that boy what running was all about.

Edward was a superb runner, and I'm sure he'd give any partners but me a run for their money. He moved out with long, even strides, perfectly balanced. He wasted no energy bobbing up and down—all his motion was efficient, his powerful legs propelling him forward. His arms hung freely from his relaxed shoulders, his elbows moving in exact opposition to his knees, his hands loosely fisted. His body torqued with the same muscular grace of the cats I hunted and drank down like syrup, like sap. I dropped back numerous times to watch the muscles in his ass clench and release; I could almost feel those muscles moving under my hands.

By the time we'd circled around the campus and stopped in front of the place where we'd talked yesterday, Edward was winded. His delectable sweat was rolling down his neck and his arms were slick with it. I wanted to lick him. I threw a few boxer's jabs to dissipate the impulse. I could hardly wait to run with him some more. I couldn't remember—and I have perfect recall—when I had felt this elated. _Well, possibly certain hunts._

My desire to hunt Edward was transforming into just plain desire. When he'd called me this morning, I wanted to scream in triumph. I had replayed for hours the feel of his tongue on my lips. _His taste!_ There were no words, only a constant dampness between my legs. It wasn't remotely an issue to take Tanya's suggestion to touch myself. Before the phone buzzed, I'd just finished the third round of "Operation Let Your Fingers Do the Walking."

While Edward indulged his need to obtain me some human food, I checked my messages: I'd promised Charles I'd spend the whole weekend with him. Even though school had just started, he missed me, and this new development in my life had him both worried and excited. There was nothing on my phone from Charles, but a positively irritating text from Tanya: _Tell him you're a virgin._ I texted back furiously: _Are you insane?_ Her reply was virtually instant: _Trust me on this. It will solve boatloads of problems._

_Plus it's true._

I shoved my phone into the cuff of my sock, letting my body go still so my mind could fully absorb what she'd suggested; how exactly does one reveal to a human man that you are that most elusive of creatures: a twenty year old virgin. Far easier to admit I'm a monster. _Just you wait, Henry Higgins._ That time may come.

_By all that is holy, what am I thinking?_ Just as I'd decided to quit this perilous path I was on, leave school, leave Seattle even, Edward and his mouth-venoming smell returned. My mind may have been determined to call the whole thing off, but my body rose to the occasion like it was about to take the world record in lust.

I almost sloshed my tea, pulling it to my nose so fast. The berry aroma was becoming my signal to calm down.

_Well,_ my lust reasoned unreasonably, _if you're going to run away, at least use this opportunity to gain a little practice._

At precisely that moment, Edward leaned toward me and my dead heart whimpered. He could not have surprised me more when he reached out and gently removed my hair clip. My hair slid across my shoulder blades and I was so aware of my skin, I almost sighed. Had Edward somehow sensed my reaction? He made a very human gesture of nervousness, whipping off his glasses and polishing the lenses on his shirttail. His long lashes glinted in the faint daylight, shadowing his fabulous eyes.

_Here goes nothing,_ I thought, inhaling deeply. I asked him to leave his glasses off. His eyes were simply too beautiful to cover up, and I told him as much. I watched myriad emotions flash across his eyes as the birds called surprise, delight, and—what was that last one? _Desire?_—winged across those dark green depths.

He called me an angel. I had long been a horrifying angel of death, but when Edward called me that, he meant something divine. Such a simple thing really: a casual use of a term for something no human had ever seen and few believed in, but it knocked me off that mountain where I'd long piled up peaks of loneliness, anger, self-loathing, and fear, preventing all those harsh emotions from running free.

When Edward called me an angel, I flew off that black mountain into a place of lightness and open air, and when I landed, softly, on my feet, I _was_ an angel. _His _angel. I knew I could never hurt him. It would be my job to guard him, guide him, and yes, even love him. There was no job I wanted more.

When Edward told me he wanted to play one of his compositions for me, my entire long existence crystallized into that one shining point. Everything up to that moment had been about running away. Justlikethat everything was about running toward. Toward companionship. Toward eternity. Toward Edward.

So I told him I was a virgin.

I might have predicted any number of responses: mirth, dismay, ridicule, disbelief. He had none of those reactions. Instead, he told me quietly, almost shyly, that he was sorry I'd had to tell him in a public place ("Oh Bella," he'd said wistfully, "I wish we were alone right now in a beautiful garden surrounded by flowers and moonlight"—which was irritatingly sappy and incredibly sweet), that he felt privileged to be entrusted with such a significant piece of information, that I must think highly of him to reveal something so personal—it was all so old-fashioned and endearing that I wished I could cry.

And then, having played the V-card, I told him I had to leave.

I asked Edward to come with me to my truck. As we walked, I said I'd promised I'd spend the weekend with my father, but I told Edward I'd be thinking about him a lot; I asked him if I could call him, and if I could see him again before class next week. He'd agreed eagerly.

Moving side by side, I stole quick glances at him. He really was quite gorgeous. From my travels so long ago in Italy, I had studied marble statues carved to represent all that was perfect in the human male. But to my eyes, Edward was better, simply because he was less perfect: his thick hair was ruffled, some parts dark with his sweat with dry pieces tufted up, copper in the clouded light. His skin was pale, with a subtle lavender cast where his blood pulsed close to the surface. His upper lip was straighter and more sculpted than his full, almost pouting bottom lip. His chin and jaw were strong. Nothing about him was boney, but everything was defined, masculine but not muscle-bound.

With my sharp sight, I could see the salt drying on his skin. I preferred the taste of sweet things—likely a side effect of our venom being sweet—but I wanted to sweep my tongue along his neck, feeling the roughness of his stubble. I could almost recall the taste of bread with butter, and I thought he'd taste the same. Warm. Tangy. Salted. Yummy.

We stopped next to my truck; Edward raised an eyebrow in question, and I pulled a chord holding my key around my neck, shaking it while I motioned to my truck. The look on his face as he took it in was priceless. Even men who weren't typical "guys" loved my truck; they couldn't keep their hands off it, and the few who'd dared speak to me were transparent in their desire to get inside. None of them knew my truck was my sanctuary. I sat in it or on it for hours, thinking, writing in my journals, coming down from the high of hunting, reading, listening to music. I rarely even let Charles get in it, and I think he drove it once. As sensitive as my family had to be to the plight of the planet, one of my purest pleasures was driving. I could do it for hours on end. I reveled in the feeling of all that power in my control; if I'd wanted to, I probably could have picked up the truck—although leverage and balance would be tricky—but it was still a big, strong, responsive brute of a thing, and I loved it.

_This is your truck?_ Edward had breathed. I nodded, full of pride. _Fantastic,_ he'd said, but I saw he was looking at me.


	11. Chapter 11

Author's note: Gad, I love Emmett! FF Emmetts are way wonderful. And don't ya'll think Bam Margera is the real-life Em (love this image: / sam_mundens_website/ Bam%20Margera% _remove spaces after slashes_)? Leave me a review and let me know if you want more of my big lug.

Music ideas: Aaron Copeland: _Piano Variations. _Search on YouTube for Serina and Alison Chang's _4 dance episodes from Rodeo_ to hear something similar to what Bella must have heard over the phone.

* * *

**Chapter 10**

Bella's truck was so not what I'd expected. It was metallic cherry red, pimped to the max with fog lights, super-dark tinted glass, gray leather seats, and tread-plate storage boxes over the wheel wells. I hoped Emmett got a chance to see it. I'd love to be able to tell him I'd driven it. She'd just seen fit to tell me she was a virgin, but I thought I was more likely to get in her pants than in her truck.

She certainly kept me on my toes, this girl. One minute she's running alongside me with the speed and stamina of a thoroughbred, the next she was flirting with me shamelessly—and my cock could testify in court that she was fucking good at it—then she confessed that she'd never had intercourse, and now she was putting her key in the door of every jock's wet dream.

She'd said she had to spend the weekend with her parents, and I was simultaneously glad for the chance to slow down and process all that had happened, and annoyed that I couldn't monopolize her weekend. She'd said she'd call, so it seemed obvious that she wasn't avoiding me. And her voice got husky and a little sad when she said she'd be thinking about me.

I wanted her to be thinking about me in exactly the way I'd be thinking about her, so when she started to open the door, I stepped right up against her. With a surprised mew, she spun inside my arms and looked up at me, her eyes wide and dark, watching me as I leaned down to her mouth.

I moved my hands to rest on the slight curve of her hips. She held so still she could have been a statue. I peppered her bottom lip with soft, sucking kisses and she never moved. But her honey breath fanned across my face and her lips parted just enough for a tiny growl to escape. At the sound, my cock leaked.

I leaned back to look in her eyes; her pupils were so dilated, her eyes looked black. Like a crazed filly about to bolt, there was a rim of white visible all the way around. She was afraid of me?

"Bella," I murmured and her head tipped forward to rest just under my chin, her full lips pressed against the hollow between my collarbones. I trembled, but fear had nothing to do with it.

My hands left her hips, brushing up her sides and under the hem of her shirt. When my fingers made contact with her cool creamy skin, we both shivered, but cold had nothing to do with it. My every thought was of rubbing two bodies together with enough force to start a fire, but I wasn't sure how to get us there.

And then she pressed her cold hands against my warm ones, trapping mine against her slender waist, and the way she moaned my name into my skin made everything come together like a symphony where every instrument played a perfect, dedicated part. "Edward, I have to go."

I stepped back, holding her door for her, and closing it once she'd climbed in. She put down her window, and I reached through to stroke a fingertip down her cheek. "Put your seatbelt on," I admonished. "I want you back in one piece." She smiled and nodded, and drove away. I watched her out of sight.

8888888888

As I crossed the street to the house, I saw Emmett's immense SUV parked in front. I really wanted to think about what Bella had told me—not just the obvious, but _everything_ she'd said: how she noticed me from the start, how she thought my eyes were beautiful, how she said I smelled _scrumptious—_but with Em around, I wouldn't have the luxury of time alone.

The front door was open, and as I walked through it, I heard Jasper say, "Up against the wall." Either he had lost every shred of propriety and was having public sex with my sister, or he had lost every shred of sense and was frisking my brother. Neither seemed very Jasper-like, and as I peered into the front room, I saw neither was true.

"What's up, Hulk?" I greeted Emmett as he and Jasper stood up from leaning a mattress against the wall dividing the room from the hallway. I felt my eyebrows go up as Emmett gestured to the mattress, yelling, "Ta DAAA!"

"What the fuck, Em!" I burst out. And then I remembered Jasper's comment last night. "Wait. One. Goddamn. Minute," I said, turning slowly toward Jasper, who was already backing out of the room. I jumped him and easily head-locked him. He was thumping at me and hollering incoherently and I was squeezing and hollering right back, when the King of Loud out-shouted us, "Hey! Time out, chimps!" effectively ending our wrestling match before it had really started. Neither of us wanted Emmett to get in the wrestling mood.

Jasper and I panted at Emmett, who proceeded to Vanna White the mattress, "As you know, my fan-fucking-tabulous wife is mui grando preggo. She's bitchin' and moanin' that the bed is lumpy and keeping her awake at night—which is _my_ job—so onetwothree I'm in the truck driving to SleepEz because nothing is too good for my Rose.

"Now I happen to be on the phone with Tiny Toons, and she is talking a thousand fucking miles a minute, so I'm all like, _I can't talk to you now, Alice, I'm buying a mattress for that horny bitch that's_ 'having my baby' (Emmett actually sings this phrase in his best Paul Anka while Jazz and I mime puking), and so she's all like, _what are you gonna do with your old mattress, hmm?_ and I'm all _why? do you want to cut it up for one of your pansy costumes_? and she says,_ No. Bring it to Jazz's so Edward and his _girlfriend_ have somewhere to snuggle._

"So?" Emmett says, stretching out the "O" for a while; I have the good graces to look sheepish. "Hi HO!" Shouts my charming brother loud enough for the universe to hear, "Asswipe here"—he makes a grand arm swing my direction—"has a _girlfriend!" _He high-fives me and damn near takes off my hand at the wrist, "You go on with your bad self, bro!" Except when Emmett says it, it sounds more like "brew."

Jasper takes that as his cue to exit to the kitchen for beers, and he and Emmett sprawl on the hardwood, leaning back up against the naked mattress. Since I haven't even had lunch, I pass on the pale ale. I give the mattress a hard stare and say, "I bet that is so full of Em jizz my girl will get pregnant if she lies down on it."

Emmett snorts right back, "I'm happy to help my little bro in any way I can," before tipping back his bottle and chugging. "I gotta get home to the missus before she tans my ass for garters." He stands up and engulfs me in a hug, slapping my back hard enough to make me cough.

"Good for you, Edward," he gives me a huge grin. He flips Jasper the bird and bounds from the room like Mighty Joe Young. I sink down next to Jasper, deciding a beer might be called for after all.

"What _was_ that," I blew out a breath.

"The father of your nephew," Jasper answered, before smacking me on the shoulder and rolling to his feet. "C'mon. I'll find you some sheets."

88888888888

I showered and put on jeans. I shoved the mattress into the semi-circle created by the front windows, wrapped it in a sheet, and flopped down on it. I rolled up the extra comforter Jazz gave me and put it under my head. The back of my big couch formed a wall between me and the rest of the room. From down here, I could stare out of the windows at the scudding gray clouds. I decided I liked it.

I knew Jasper didn't mind my being in his house; we were practically housemates. I didn't go home to my parents' that much. They kept a room for me and one for Alice—even all of Emmett's sports trophies were on display—but unless a meal or a loan was in order, we both preferred to be with Jazz.

I could tell Jazz anything. He was thoughtful, observant, and keyed right into my state of mind. He could read Alice just as well, and that was a large part of why she'd always been in love with him. Since childhood, Alice fancied she could predict the future (although she overshot as often as she dunked), and she adored Jasper's emo philosophy rants. They worked on her like foreplay.

I heard the microwave and went to the kitchen. Jasper was reheating leftover thai and motioned me to grab another bowl. When we'd sat to the table, I forked up some drunken noodles, and summoned my courage. "So," I said between chews, "I went running with Bella this morning."

"Yeah, and my clean clothes are all over the floor because of it," Jasper said through a mouthful of larb.

"I'll fold them up again," I assured him, before pressing on. "We stopped at Grounded afterwards," I said, naming the campus coffee shop. "Bella was, um… really… flirting with me."

Jasper looked at me and stopped chewing. One eyebrow went up until it was hidden by his bed-headed curls. "It was hot," I admitted, and his other eyebrow joined the first. He swallowed. I knew he got my point without explanation: I was typically oblivious to flirting, and even though a fair amount got directed my way, I rarely acted on it.

"She told me… she's a virgin."

Jasper speared some beef and stuffed it in his mouth. He chewed and swallowed. He swigged his beer. He sucked at his teeth. "So?" he said finally.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "Was Alice?"

"We all started out that way," he neatly side-stepped my question.

"What should I do?"

"You like her, right? You'll know what to do."

I ran my hand through my hair in frustration, "A little help here, Jazz!"

"Edward. It's not that big a deal."

"Not that big… how can you say that?!" I sputtered, indignant.

"Dude, seriously?" Jasper gave me what for him was a hard look. "You don't believe all that movie hype, so you?"

"Like what," I stalled, not sure what he meant.

"That it's special. That it's painful. That it's bloody when you break her barrier."

I knew my mouth hung open: I _did_ believe all those things.

"Jesus, Edward, it's _your_ dad who's the doctor!" He got up to put his bottle in recycling and rinse out his bowl. He leaned against the sink, folding his arms. "Look," he spoke quietly, patiently. "A girl's first time can be rough. So can her hundredth. Her first time can be important and memorable. She can come or maybe she will next time or maybe she never will." I flinched. "All I'm saying is that it's kind of up to you."

"Me?" I squeaked out, and Jasper laughed.

"_You_ aren't the virgin," he reminded me unnecessarily. "But you _are_ quite the gentleman. I have confidence that you and Bella can figure this out. If you really like her, her virginity will be the least of your troubles." Jasper turned to leave, saying over his shoulder, "You know where I keep my laptop."

888888888888

Hymen. Masturbation. Lubricant. Timing. Athletics. G-spot. Ibuprofen. After all my reading, I wasn't in a piano-playing mood. I set Jasper's laptop aside on the mattress and laid back. My head was buzzing with too much information, and everything I'd read simply reinforced Jasper's damnable rightness. What happened _was_ up to Bella and me. Given that I'd never met anyone like her, no prescribed moves would fit our circumstances. My experience and knowledge might be lacking, but I knew I'd give her my respect, my time and patience, my full attention, and my dedication, and I hoped that would be enough.

I spent minutes, maybe hours, watching the sky change and darken through the windows, and a few spatters of rain hit the glass. Just when I thought I should pull out my music theory work, my phone rang with—what the fuck?—the opening of _Hoedown,_ and I stared at the screen. Bella's ID. Sneaky minx set her own ring tone when she programmed her number into my phone.

"Bella?" I spoke eagerly.

Her low voice vibrated through my ear straight into my chest. "Have I called at a bad time?"

"Never," I said, hoping the truth was as evident in my voice as it was in my heart.

We passed a few pleasantries before she admitted, "I don't really have anything to say. I just wanted to feel connected to you." Her words thrilled through me, and I hopped to my feet.

"Then let me play for you?"

"I'd like that," she said softly.

"I'm putting you on speaker," I said and set the phone beside me on the bench; I'd learned if I set it on the piano, it picked up all sorts of reverb and distortion.

"You still there?" I heard her small noise of assent. "What would you like to hear"?

"Whatever you want to play."

"Okay," I thought a moment. "How about some Copeland?" and I set up _Saturday Night Waltz._ From there, I launched into _Hoedown_—I heard her delighted laugh come through the phone—then straight into _Buckaroo's Holiday,_ and detoured briefly into _Piano Variations,_ before ending quietly with a little bit of _Simple Gifts_. I loved Copeland's polyphonic textures, and these were pieces I knew intimately. As my fingers flew over the keys without any thought processes connected to them, I thought for the nth time how brilliant he was, how he could capture a whole landscape, an entire culture, a fucking _season,_ in straightforward, accessible melodies. Most people were familiar with his music—pretty much everyone watched the Olympics—but few heard it without the hyperbole of an orchestra. Played alone on piano, his pieces were distilled, elemental, pure.

I finished with a small flourish, shaking my hair out of my eyes, and was gratified to hear her applause as I picked up the phone.

"How was that?" I asked, slightly out of breath.

"Wonderful!" Bella's voice was full of approval.I was used to people appreciating my talent: a father's praise, a professor's insight, a friend's astonishment, an audience's kudos. But I'd never had a reason to seek a lover's bond. _Is that how I think of Bella?_ Without a doubt I wanted to be her lover. And I already felt a bond forming between us. Just hours in her presence—less than a whole day?—and I felt uneasy apart from her.

Her voice focused me, "Would you play the piece I inspired?"

"No."

"What? Why?" She wasn't expecting me to refuse her. Little did she know I was incapable of refusing her anything.

"I want you here when I play it for you."

"Oh." I could hear the pleasure in her voice. "I'll be there in less than forty-eight hours." That sounded like a long time. "Does this piece have a name?"

"Waiting." I doodled my fingers on the keys.

"I certainly am," Bella's voice grew smoky. In what was becoming a habit, she clicked off without a goodbye.


	12. Chapter 12

Author's note: So. Who picked up on half-naked piano-playing Edward? His delectable toes bare on the pedals, gripping. The muscles in his back and arms fluid under smooth skin as his elegant fingers stalk the keys. His iridescent hair obscuring his tourmaline eyes. His breath husking through that oh-so-kissable mouth. His throat making tiny grunts during the pounding passages. To quote Quizno's, "Mm mm mm mm mm mm mmmmm." _Why yes, I'll have the Edward, with extra meat and no dressing, and heat that up, please._

Music selections focus on the hurdles of love: Os Mutantes: _Baby;_ Grizzly Bear: _Two Weeks;_ Empire of the Sun: _Walking On a Dream; _They Might Be Giants: _Birdhouse In Your Soul; _Lily Allen:_ It's Not Fair; _Ewan McColl:_ The Joy of Living; _Bill Callahan:_ Eid Ma Clack Shaw_.

* * *

**Chapter 11**

Charles enfolded me in a hug as soon as I stepped from my truck; he'd been waiting out front, so that we could hunt together.

"Let me say hello to Renee," I turned toward the house.

"She's in Tacoma planning a party and won't be home until later," he informed me. Renee was a genius at all things social: she was a successful wedding and party planner. She loved girly stuff; I was a bit of a disappointment to her.

The house was on the Park side of Bremerton, somewhat isolated as was appropriate for our kind. Sometimes I swam the Sound to get there, but it was really no faster than driving down to the ferry. If I swam, I had no way to take my journal. Plus I liked the birds that followed along behind the big boat.

"Then you look ready to go," Charles gave me the up and down, taking in my running clothes.

"I went for a run with Edward this morning," I said, looking at Charles. He didn't exactly smile, but I could plainly see in his expression the curiosity and cunning that made him such a superlative detective.

"I'll tell you everything after we hunt," I said, and took off. Charles was close on my heels; he wasn't as fleet as me, although he might have been had he enjoyed the sensation more. Renee didn't care at all for running—she was protective of both her nail polish and her shoes, so Charles typically drove her to the Park. Or they just nabbed a few of the ubiquitous deer close to home.

We got soggy crossing the canal, and we were both thirsty enough to take a couple of elk just inside the border of the Park. After flinging the corpses deeper in for the foxes and weasels to find, we sat under some low branches. I let a rhinoceros beetle disturbed by our scuffling wander up and down my arm for long minutes; I could feel its hooked feet trying to grab my skin. Charles waited patiently for me to speak.

"I had another flashback," I said quietly, referring to my "fainting" episode. Charles remained quiet.

"I was with Edward when it happened."

Charles reached out then, placing a firm hand on my knee. The beetle crossed the back of his hand and made its way down to the leaves. Still, none of the expected interrogation.

"We were… I was… thirsty. And nervous."

"Nervous." Charles said it back to me as a statement. He didn't need to ask me why; he knew if I'd brought it up, I'd tell him why.

"You have to understand, Charles: this man is quite protective of me." Charles didn't flinch—he is simply not the flinching kind. He gets called to crime scenes awash in human blood and has iron control of his bloodlust. He's not likely to be disconcerted by anything I could tell him about a human.

It remained to be seen what he might do when I related my many slips.

"I know it sounds ridiculous, but I think he cares for me. Inexplicable, but there you have it." I held up my hands in the "I don't know" gesture so common among humans. "Anyway, he thought I was cold because of my skin"—I sensed Charles's inquisitiveness building, but he remained quiet—"so he put his sweater around my shoulders."

As I related all this, it struck me that I was describing something that smacked awfully of a _date_. Was I _dating_ Edward? I forged on: "His sweater radiated his scent, and I… plus I… think I was feeling attraction for him… not just for his blood… and I lost all sense of conscious control. I was in a dream state, and then I was on my knees on the ground and Edward was calling my name. He was very worried."

Charles skipped right by Edward's feelings and actions and asked, "What did you see? Was it the usual?"

I picked up a leaf. I crumbled it. Then another. I blew air from my lungs, "Yes. I was flying through the air. I hit hard and my neck broke. I heard hoof beats. Then a voice. _Your_ voice."

"It's been a long time since this has happened to you." Again, he wasn't asking me a question. And then, Charles looked at me, his eyes narrowing. There was the detective. Here came the questioning.

"You said you were nervous?"

"Edward and I were talking." Charles' eyebrows went up. "What?" I snapped, _"You_ suggested it!" I drew in a calming breath and continued. "You might be interested to know that the longer I'm around him, the less his blood sings to me."

"When he put his sweater on you, how much venom did you swallow?"

"A fair amount. But less than the first time I smelled him." I muttered, "Tanya was right: his _body_ is singing to me now.

"It makes me nervous.

I said some things."

"What sorts of things?" Charles asked calmly.

"I told him about my journals and the book project. And Edward plays the piano, so I might have mentioned that I saw Professor Longhair play in New Orleans."

Charles was nodding as he listened, "Roy Byrd—that man could play a mean piano, couldn't he?"

"Certainly. But Edward picked up on the discrepancy between my apparent age and the date of Roy's death."

"And you explained it away?" I nodded, and Charles asked, "So there was minimal harm?"

"Charles, I didn't endanger us—Edward is easy to distract. But he did guess that the book is about me. That Isabella isn't fictitious. He believes I have set her up as an alter ego of sorts, who has lived through the 20th century, so that I can write about all the history that fascinates me. He said readers wouldn't 'get it' and that I needed a better hook."

Charles laughed, "Edward seems smart."

"For a human. And he's wonderful to look at." I bit my lip at my admission. "Tanya said I should tell him I'm a… tell him I've never had… so I did."

"Excellent idea! That's a cover story for your nervousness."

"Not for long!" I spouted. "Damn it, Charles! He's going to know about us! And likely soon…"

If I weren't so aggravated, I would have been amused by the emotions flitting across Charles' face. "Bella," he laid his arm across my shoulder, "you know I love you? This can be a good thing."

"I'm having a hard time seeing it that way."

"Do you think you're likely to kill him?"

"No. I'm beginning to feel protective of him now, too."

Charles stood up and offered me his hand. "Let's go home. Renee will be there and we can talk more. She knows a lot more than I do about this whole dating thing."

88888888888

Renee was alternately pouting and giggling as she shared her afternoon spent with two older humans wanting to celebrate their wedding anniversary; fifty years didn't seem all that long to me, but I certainly knew humans loved celebrations. Renee had lived a party life as a young human woman of means, so she knew this human requirement better than any of our kind. It was part of why her business was so successful—she was a natural at making a celebrant the center of attention, because she herself loved that so much.

I watched as Charles listened to her raptly; he could not have been more enamored of her if she was dazzling him. And she _was_ dazzling: she wasn't particularly petite—we were the same size—but she had a way of seeming delicate, feminine, innocent. Someone to be coddled and cherished. In Renee, Charles had the best of both worlds: a wife and a child. She loved him with the endless passion of a lover and the respect and awe of a daughter. And he would give her the world. In his quiet, steady, able way, he had used his immortality to build a life for all of us that was our fortress and our freedom.

I came back to the conversation with Charles' soft laughter over Renee's charming description of the human husband's foibles and the forbearing of his wife. Renee's eyes sparkled in the lamplight, and she kicked off her sexy shoes, wiggling perfectly painted toes. She turned her merry gaze on me.

"So Bella," she sighed. "I understand Tanya recommends dazzling Edward before you two make love."

I was proud I didn't wince.

"Charles doesn't generally back the idea, do you darling?" she glanced at him without waiting for his response. "But it is a gift we all share, and it helps us succeed with humans in whatever way suits us."

That struck me as callous, if true. With our superior speed, strength, and prowess, the ability to entrance our prey seemed a miserable trick to play on the doomed. We were dangerous enough to humans without robbing their common sense. I knew I would have to dazzle Edward, but I wasn't looking forward to it. Something of this must have shown on my face, because Charles surprised me by saying, "It _is_ our nature."

Charles had a knack for playing both ends against the middle, which served him well as a detective, teasing information from reluctant suspects. I didn't even have to point out to him that he was doing it now; he attempted to wipe away my doubts before they could put down roots in my discomfort: "We must not use our beauty, our charm, our grace, our influence, to lure and consume humans. But that doesn't mean that dazzling a human is in and of itself an act of malevolence. If dazzling Edward means that you can find closure in his arms, then you bear him no malice. It will be, on your part, a protection both for him and for us."

I nodded my head, feeling a bit aggravated, put upon even. I knew how to dazzle, I just didn't do it all that much. But I knew what Charles was expecting, so I said, "Renee, I'd like to practice with you before I go back to Seattle."

At that, Charles drew her into the circle of his arms, and they both beamed at me.

888888888888

I was bottled up from all the discussion over the past weeks about me, my bloodlust, my _Edward_ lust. I needed a break. I wanted the soothing calm of Edward's plush voice. I went outside to call him.

He sounded… distracted. "Did I call you at a bad time?"

"No! I'm so glad you did. You know, I don't even know where your parents live. Where you are now."

"I'm right across the Sound from you."

"Your family lives near the Park?"

"Mm. Between Bremerton and there, yes."

"I love the Park. Do you go there a lot?"

"Yes. Often."

"Do you ever see animals?"

"I encounter a few… once in a while."

"Anything exciting?"

"What do you consider exciting, Edward?"

"Bears? Lions?" Of course, he'd completely missed my meaning.

"I don't look for bears. But lions, yes. And bobcats. Coyotes."

"That must be a beautiful sight."

"It's always… quick." I wanted to giggle with the double entendres. Suddenly I cared what he would think of my dietary habits, "Do you like animals a lot?"

"I like knowing they're out there."

"Oh, me too." I hope I didn't sound too enthusiastic.

"I didn't grow up with pets. My mom went through a fish phase, though. I hated helping with the tanks."

"Why?" I thought fish quite pretty, but no blood in them, really.

"Having my hands in so much water softened my calluses. Changed my playing."

"I didn't think piano playing caused calluses."

"It can. Especially if you play as much as I do." I paused, wondering how it would feel to delicately nip his callused fingers with my teeth. Edward's voice brought me back to myself. "Tell me what you can see—I want to picture where you are."

I liked that he wanted that: "I'm sitting outside in my truck. There are a lot of very tall evergreens ringing the house. They look black and spiky against the sky. There are actually some breaks in the clouds. I can see a few stars. The air is cool and the insects are quiet. I think I hear a mouse out under the trees."

"You can hear that?" Edward sounded surprised.

_Shit._ "Well, probably not a _mouse._ Too small to hear. But something's rustling over there."

"I wish I was there. I'd protect you from any marauders." I loved the merriment in his voice.

At that point, I confessed I didn't call with any topic in mind. Edward asked if he could play for me, and he treated me to an impromptu concert. He was very good.

I laughed out loud when he ran through some of _Hoedown_—I had programmed that to be my ringtone on his phone. In the early 90s, there was a television ad campaign that used Copeland's music to advertise beef for dinner. I guess it was just my monstrous humor, thinking about eating Edward some warm summer night. Turns out Edward loves Copeland.

I asked him to play the piece he was composing, the one he'd said I'd "given" him the music for. I felt a bit sullen when he refused, but when he told me it was because he wanted me there when he played it, I swear my nipples stood to attention. For much, I would have run all the way to him and torn off his clothes.

I tried to picture Edward without any clothing. I'd certainly seen many naked men. American culture—especially movies and cable—showed lots of handsome, naked men. There was a singular film a few years back that Renee thought hilarious, with a fat man in compromising positions, his testicles in another man's face. I wasn't sure why it was humorous. It seemed more embarrassing than anything.

In my human life, the soldiers and drovers that moved through town would stand stark naked at the rain barrels, dipping water over themselves to cool off and wash down the omnipresent dust that caked everything and clogged their very pores. They were too hardened by difficult lives to care if a girl saw them. Sometimes, the look in their eyes said they welcomed it. They never welcomed _me,_ but then I didn't give them the shy smiles and hooded glances of the younger girls. I sometimes wondered if my being half-breed—there were few women living in San Xavier and most were émigrés from Spain—made me anathema. Not to mention my moodiness and introspection. I'm certain if I'd been more _inviting_ I wouldn't have stayed a virgin long.

These thoughts made me feel gloomy, so I ended my call abruptly. Glad I'd come in my truck so I had my journal with me, I worked on book outlines for a while. But my recalcitrant pen wrote thoughts of Edward. I sighed. Maybe forcing my feelings into words could help me untangle the magnetic appeal of the man.

He was handsome, yes. Talented, without a doubt. Hard to tell without knowing him better, but he seemed smart. He wasn't shy, but he wasn't bold. As a matter of fact, he was a perfect gentleman. That appealed to me more than anything I'd yet learned about him: he helped me into my truck. He held out chairs for me. He got my tea and never once commented that I didn't drink it. Even though his stride was longer, he made sure to walk alongside me. And he was bashful. Quick to apologize before offense could be taken. Hesitant to ask for my companionship, lest that be too forward. Downright old-fashioned for a twenty-something college man. I liked it.

And then, there was the kissing. I had almost no experience in that regard—I qualified as an orgasm expert by comparison, since that was something I could do alone. But I needed no experience to know that his kisses were the only ones I needed. Would _ever_ need. His lips were so warm. Soft. Clinging. Expressive. Tasty. Like words: each one different, with subtle shades of meaning. And unlike words, all of Edward's kisses made me feel… well… I just didn't know what those kisses made me feel. But I did know this: I wanted more.

Hours filling pages with endless adverbs about his endless adjectives brought me no closer to understanding. My head was about to burst from all the ideas, speculations, advice, and demands from Charles, Tanya, and Renee, and I slammed the journal closed and flung my pen. _Dammit!_ I instantly regretted my tantrum when I saw the ink mark on the leather seat.

I thrust my head back into the headrest with enough force to make it groan. _Goddammit_ _all to hell!_ I hurdled from my beloved truck, lest I kept hurting it, and tore off through the trees. My hair caught on twigs and my leggings snagged in the undergrowth. I swatted branches, sending them flying. I snatched up a fallen log larger than me and hurled it so powerfully it shattered on impact a hundred yards away. I caught up rocks, exploding them on trees. I flushed a napping buck and I pounced on his back, driving him to the ground. I cracked off an antler flailing with him; I didn't like to torture my meals, but I was totally in the monster's thrall, and by the time I'd drained the deer, his ribs were crushed from my fiendish grip.

Even blood did little to quench the inferno of my F5 anger. I stood over the demolished animal, panting and trembling, my fists clenched until my fingers ached. My eyes darted erratically, searching for something else to destroy. I knew from my rages during the first years after my change that I was building to an unstoppable conflagration with dire circumstances. I hadn't run amok in decades—longer—and some tiny, blessed part of me rose up to take a stand.

I snapped my teeth through the end of my tongue.

The pain roared through me, dropping me to my knees. I spat out the bit of flesh. It lay on the dirt, pink and wet and repulsive. I fell forward, retching up a small amount of the deer's blood.

Suddenly I was overcome with exhaustion. I lay down on the forest floor, curling into a ball. Deer viscera clotted my hair. Clumps of nature were ground into my clothes. Renee was not going to want me in the house. I wished for sleep. But the way I felt, I'd probably have nightmares. I willed myself to sink into the earth. I stilled my lungs. My muscles. My hearing. My thoughts.

And into the stillness came a few quiet notes from far away and deep inside me, felted hammers on the longing in my heart.


	13. Chapter 13

Author's note: A huge thanks to gotellalice for recommending this story on her own _Dark Moon._

You would not believe how hard Bella fought me on this; I pretty much had to threaten her with giving Edward to someone else, and even then, she was a stubborn bitch.

If you've looked at my profile, you know I wrote a trilogy for the Southern Vampire Mysteries and that I am devoted to TrueBlood; since the soundtrack of Nathan Barr's gorgeous music for the show came out, I have been listening to it non-stop. It is my music recommendation for this chapter, especially Lisbeth Scott's piano interpretation _Love Theme. _If you review, Edward will play it for you with his shirt off.

* * *

**Chapter 12**

Jasper and Alice were having dinner with Emmett and Rose; Emmett was doing the caveman barbeque thing, probably grilling a whole pig or something. I made the excuse of getting schoolwork done, but really, I wanted to wait for Bella. I hoped when she got back to town she'd call, and maybe we could meet up for dinner or a walk. Maybe she'd come over and I could play "Waiting" for her. Maybe I could touch her and kiss her again.

I had closed the top on the piano, and my music theory work was spread over it. I walked around the piano, checking my notation. I had Jazz's laptop for the evening, so I could check out ideas on how acoustics affect the perception of music. It was pretty cool stuff, but I couldn't concentrate. My bare feet were cold on the wood floor, but it helped keep me focused.

After my run, I had showered and pulled on jeans and a white button-down oxford left hanging open, not bothering to get fully dressed so I could change quickly if Bella called. I was thinking how I'd yet to see her in a dress, and I imagined how beautiful her long legs would be, having seen the sweep of her calves and the muscles of her thighs in those sinful running leggings she'd worn. What would she think if I asked her to wear a skirt for me?

I picked up my notation, trying to pull my mind back from the picture of her standing between my knees, while I ran my hands up under her skirt and along her thighs. The papers felt rough on my fingers compared to what they wanted to be feeling.

A knock at the door and I jumped, the papers fluttering to the floor. _What the hell?_ I thought as I moved into the hallway. This wouldn't be the first time Alice had sent pizza so I wouldn't forget to eat.

I opened the door to tell the kid I needed to grab my wallet, and there she was.

Luminous in the spill of light from the hall, her eyes dark and sparkling, her full lips curved in a gentle smile, and she was wearing… a skirt.

"Bella!" I sputtered. "Come in, please. Gosh, I…" I bumbled with my shirttails, and stepped aside for her.

"Have I interrupted your meal?" she said, brushing past me, her faint flower scent following her. I used the opportunity of her back being turned to adjust my cock, which was filling up my jeans at the sight of my fantasy made real.

"Oh no, no," I hastily fastened two buttons to hold my shirt together, and motioned her down the hall. "Jasper and my sister went to my brother's house for dinner, and I stayed behind to work on some…" I trailed off as I took in her endless legs, smooth and bare. Her skirt stopped just above her knees. She had on scarred leather lace-up wingtips with a moderate heel—like a girl version of a man's business shoes—and tiny white ankle socks. Her hair was twisted up in a messy bun, and her sweater was slate blue, tight, with a mouth-wateringly low v-neck. Add glasses and she'd be my librarian wet-dream.

She stopped in the open French doors that led into my room, and scowled adorably, furrowing her angelic eyebrows. "You have eaten?"

"No." _God, she was so. Damn. Hot._ I swallowed a mouthful of saliva. "I'm not hungry. I don't get hungry when I'm working." I motioned to the room.

Bella turned then, and I suddenly saw my room through her eyes; I hope she didn't think I was some sort of hobo.

In the center of the large space, gleaming on the hardwood floor, stood my baby grand. It was covered in books and papers, and the staffs I had dropped were spread around its legs. Guarding the window bay was my hulking couch, also littered with papers. The fireplace mantle held matchbox cars, Barbie heads, a sock monkey, a box of band-aids, photos, a mug, a bowl, pencils, half-spent candles, a ball cap, and _holy hell!_ one of my running shoes.

Bella stood in front of my wall of motivation: images torn from various sources and push-pinned up for inspiration. Big sky clouds. The Rockies. Dripping icicles. Rain on leaves. Michelangelo's _Captives_. City skylines. Crying babies. War. The aftermath of Katrina. Favorite musicians playing. The moon. And yes, even a few beautiful girls. Bella touched a fingertip to each one, smiling as she did.

She spoke to the pictures, "This is where you live?"

"Well. Yes. Technically I stay at my dad's house, but I don't go there much." I couldn't take my eyes off her. My fingers itched to take down her hair. And her panties. I added lamely, "My piano's here."

"So I see," Bella's low voice was amused.

"Would you like a beer? Or I could make coffee?" I wanted to be hospitable. I wanted an excuse to go to the kitchen for matches to light candles and banish the damnable overhead light. "Or," I hesitated to even suggest it, "I could take you _out…_"

"No," Bella said quietly. She was… watching my piano. It pretty much _was_ her competition, but I didn't want her to feel that way.

"Please have a seat," I motioned toward the couch. To my surprise—and I should be getting used to her surprises by now—she sat on the piano bench. She touched a key and a high note pierced the room.

I let the note fade before asking, hoping, "Do you play?"

She looked up at me through her impossibly long lashes and slowly shook her head, her eyes never leaving mine. As I looked at her, I felt like I was falling into her gaze, into a pool of warm chocolate sauce _which I wanted her to lick off me_ when she said softly in her cello voice, "But _you_ do," and the sound went straight to my cock and I came back to myself with a start and said, "Here," which made no sense as I darted into the kitchen, returning with matches and a chair, which I placed next to the bench. I patted the seat for her to move over and turned to light the candles.

I dimmed the ceiling fixture and when I turned back to the piano, I froze. Bella had removed her shoes and socks—_she was so quiet_—and her toes were perched on a chair rung, lifting her smooth knees up for my inspection. My hands were drawn to the silky perfection of her skin and she was completely still as I cupped her knees in my palms.

"You're cold," I said, my eyes looking at my hands holding her knees.

"Always," she said, and I looked in her eyes at the feeling that she wanted me to understand something, some tone in her voice. Her eyes were dark and dazzling. Again I felt pulled into them, like I could dive through them and be inside her, wearing her like a coat. My cock drooled a little.

I knelt in front of her, still warming her knees with my hands, and leaned in. She didn't lean forward, but she didn't lean away either. I ran my nose alongside hers, drawing in her delicate smell. Her lips parted, fanning my face with her candied breath. I touched my lips to hers and held them there.

Bella's hands slid inside the open collar of my shirt, grasping either side of my neck and puling me to her. I gasped at the chill of her hands, but her mouth felt warm and she was responsive under my lips, parting her own. I groaned, pressing in deeper. Seeking entry with my own tongue. She pulled back.

"I'm sorry," I muttered, moving to stand, but she stilled me with a look.

"No. I like it. It's just…" her eyes darted away and back, "I bit my tongue earlier. It's still sore." She looked embarrassed. I stroked a finger down her cheek to reassure her.

"Let me play for you." I moved to the bench and sat.

I could feel her eyes on me as I composed myself. _Look all you want. Want what you see. _I put my fingers to the keys.

I played, just a few hesitant notes repeating. I was aware of Bella next to me, but I wanted her to feel the music, feel how it had taken me when I thought she was gone.

To the liquid repeating notes, I added the high sharp she had just played, ending each run on that rising note, increasing the pull, pulling the tension, until it released in a torrent of sounds falling like water, an excess of notes tumbling over each other in their haste to form a cohesive whole. I risked a look at Bella; her eyes were huge in her pale face and she was staring at my hands, her lips parted. Without thinking, I repeated the entire sequence, and as my fingers dropped over the keys, Bella moved her hands to float over mine, not quite touching.

From that feathered contact, a broken melody evolved, then faltered, strengthened, then broke apart like an unfulfilled pledge. Bella's hands slowly hovered up my arms, skimming the fabric of my shirt until she turned slightly to place her palms on the skin of my chest. My fingers wavered at her touch and I'm sure she heard my gasp. Bella held her hands still on my skin and I picked up the thread of the music again.

I forced my mind to focus. I wanted Bella to know this music was for her. But this was the part I hadn't developed—the entire center of the piece was vague in my mind and on the keys. I couldn't unlock the tune. My heart was thundered inside my ribs like it was struggling to get out; as if to help it escape, Bella's fingertips ghosted over the two buttons holding my shirt together and undid them. Notes scattered over a sweet melody line filled with yearning and the promise of something complete. Her cool hand slipped inside my shirt, brushing down my ribs and along the waist of my jeans. The melody lost its confidence, stumbled, and trailed off to an uncertain end. I looked at Bella's hand, graceful, tentative, poised over my obvious erection.

My eyes rose to hers and before they could even focus, she brought her hands up to my face and removed my glasses. It was more erotic than if she'd undressed me; I felt completely stripped.

Her eyes sought mine, her pupils dilating, darkening like a cat before it springs. She crashed into my arms, her own sliding up my back. Her lips took mine like she was going to bite into me, and I pulled her onto my lap. I sank my fingers deep into the heavy softness of her hair, setting it loose, holding her head and guiding it so I could nibble and suck on her succulent lips. Moaning, we broke apart. We were both panting and I moved in to nip her jaw. She dodged and took my mouth again, hard and hungry. Our hands grappled on each other like we were climbing toward a high peak. I heaved us up to our feet, the piano bench scraping across the floor. We were locked in a waltz of lust _dance with me baby_ and one of her legs circled up to hook her foot behind my thigh, my hands jerking her hips to mine as I bent my knees to friction myself on her stomach. She wriggled a hand between us, gripping my cock through my jeans _fuck Bella you're killing me_ and I sang my arousal into her mouth.

Bella pushed back, her eyes wild, her chest rising and falling fast and my eyes swept over her _high round breasts her hard nipples just her, her, her_ and she slipped her sweater up and off in one smooth move. She reached back and unclasped her blue lace bra before I could stop her _I wanted to do that_ and the slopes of her breasts in the candlelight were lustrous satin with dark pink tips _like berries like rose petals like cherry gumdrops sugary sweet._ I could just make out the unusual scar on her neck.

I sank to my knees before her and she stepped to me unasked _let me worship you with my tongue and my breath and my lips_ and fisted her hands in my hair. I placed soft murmuring kisses over her breasts, her collarbone, her ribs, running my hands up and down her legs, hearing her breathing catch and sharpen when I licked her nipples. I tried to take in as much of her breast as I could and sucked hard, leaning back and pulling _she's so soft and taut and delicious like peaches_ and she cried out tearing at my hair _I could eat you with a spoon_ and I scraped my teeth over her breast as I released her, letting her flesh pop wet and glistening from my mouth.

I could feel her eyes on me and I looked up, instantly trapped in those volcanic black honey depths. I was pulled to my feet by that look and she almost put me back on my knees when she gave me my smile. I walked her backwards past the couch, unfastening her skirt and letting it slide to her feet. She stepped out and over it, and when her ankles hit the mattress, I stopped us and took her hands, lowering her to the sheets.

I shrugged off my shirt, and unzipped my jeans, and she watched me like I was food and she was starving. She licked her lips, and I shoved down my jeans and underwear in one motion and kicked them away. Bella's eyes grew enormous as she took me in, but I couldn't help the way I was made—I tried to reassure her with the slowness of my movements that I would be careful, that I wouldn't hurt her, that I could delay my own needs as long as it took for her get used to me— when she derailed my thoughts right off a cliff by grasping my cock in her cool hands tight and certain and _fucking hell I'm gonna explode on her breasts if she doesn't hold still_ and I managed to gasp out as much, which made her look both embarrassed and pleased all at once.

I knelt next to her, hooking my fingers in the top of her panties, asking her permission with my eyes. She gave it by lifting her hips and I swept them off and dropped them and how did this gorgeous woman come to be naked in my room _she is so beautiful just stunning just starlight_ and I climbed gently onto the mattress with her, my heart thumping as she lay back, her eyes holding mine and her smile still there, a little bit anxious a whole lot needy _don't worry baby I can take care of you_ and I couldn't quite believe it was me she was needing, but I planned on offering her whatever she would take. Any and all of me, as much or as little, for as long as it took _oh my god I hope it takes a long time I want her so bad so much so right now._

She lay on the white sheets, ivory on snow, with her hair spreading like silken roots. I sat back on my heels next to her. I wanted to take in her beauty, to memorize every inch of her, so that I could always carry her inside me. She was holding very still, watching me look at her. And I did.

Her eyes in the half-light were dark pools of fear and arousal. I wanted to dive into their depths and drown there. Her delicate nostrils were flared with excitement and anticipation. Her lips were parted, swollen from the intensity of our kisses. I wanted to stick some part of me between those lips, any part, every part. I gripped my knees to still any motion I might make; so far she was trusting me and I would not violate that trust, no matter how much I wanted to grab her and rub myself all over her.

The flickering candles turned her skin translucent. Her chin was tilted up a bit, with her neck arched; the odd crescent scar almost seemed dimensional in the low light. As my eyes took in her full breasts with their darkening tips, and the flat sweep of her belly, and the boyish curve of her hips, and the small fluff of softness between her legs, I was surprised to see the same scar repeated on the inside of her firm thigh. My eyes flicked over her, and her own grew anxious, watching me. Does she think I find them ugly? _Nothing about you could ever be ugly…_

On the inside of her wrist, I found another. Then, too, on the opposite wrist. And one on each ankle, just above the rounded bone. These were doubled crescents, one inside the other. My eyes sought hers, and I whispered, "Oh Bella. Your accident?"

She swallowed hard, then nodded.

"It must have been horrible."

She shrugged the teensiest bit, and whispered back, "I healed."

Rather than refresh her pain from her past by seeking further reminders, I gently lifted one wrist to my lips. I moved my mouth on her skin, over the scar. She was so soft, I could almost not feel her at all. She was cool. She was smooth. And she was making small noises in her throat that shot straight through my already aching cock.

Slowly, tenderly, I lowered her arm. Slowly and tenderly, I leaned down and across her and placed soft, insistent kisses over the scar inside her thigh. She was so cool and creamy that I thought of soft-served ice cream from my childhood. How great it felt to press my tongue down into that rich chill. I shivered at the memory combined with the vision in front of me. I was so ready to lick her.

I pointed my tongue, tracing the scar from end to end and back. She whimpered and her lovely thighs fell apart. Between her legs, her folds were dusky and swollen. I kissed my way to them, pausing to snuffle my nose in her baby-animal curls. She smelled like the ground right before rain, musky, fresh, and all girl.

I flattened my tongue and lapped her from bottom to top, and she gasped and bucked up, bumping my nose with her pelvic bone hard enough to make my eyes sting. _You brain, she's probably never done this before!_ I pressed my palm against her taut abdomen to reassure her and hold her steady. Then I licked her again, deeper, opening her folds for me. She was wet and tasted sweet and salty and nutty and fucking delicious. She was cool, even here at her center, and I wondered if I should pull up the covers, but she wiggled under my hand and made an impatient noise.

Keeping my movements steady and unhurried, I slowly pushed her legs apart, and slowly moved between them, and slowly lowered my face down to suck and pull with my lips, the tip of my nose rubbing against her clit, exhilarated to feel it swell. Bella ground herself into my face and I pushed back, so happy to be there I wanted to just crawl inside. I worked my fingers under her gorgeous round ass and used my thumbs to hold her open for me so I could swirl my tongue up, down, and in. I was rewarded with the husky sing-songing of my name, over and over, finding a rhythm I was all too delighted to follow.

She was gasping for me, it all blending into one elongated thrill of climbing desire and my brain was burning with the sounds. My cock had leaked on the sheets and I was digging my hips down for friction. I wanted to wait, to stroke her and kiss her and make her feel adored, to let her know how much her being here with me meant to me, and I didn't want to blow all over the bed from those ball-tugging noises she was making, but as I started to back away, she grabbed my hair in both her hands—_hard_—and growled, "Don't. You. Dare. Stop. Now."

_No my angel, never my angel. I will never, ever stop licking and sucking and fucking loving your delicious pussy_ and she was mewing like a kitten who'd lost her way and _I'm right here angel_ and her hips were rocking and her knees came up to press her heels into the mattress and her keening vibrated down through her onto my tongue and _come for me Bella my Bella_ and her muscles grabbed at my tongue like she was trying to pull me inside and I wanted to go there so bad I could cry and her strong thighs grabbed my head in giddy traction _oh god I'm losing it_ and she was writhing and my scalp was screaming as she yanked and her smell went all mushroomy and tangy _yes baby girl_ and I nipped her clit and her pulses and cries and wet and sliding and _oh my god Bella fuck yes fuck _as she came hard against my mouth.

I licked broad and slow and slower, bringing her back to me. Her gasping quieted, her fingers relaxed in my hair—_thank you_ and _don't go_—and her knees fell open, releasing me from my fabulous prison. As soon as I lifted my head, I could feel my soaked face splitting with an ear-to-ear grin. I took in my handiwork—Bella's hair billowed in a tousled cloud around her face, her eyes closed, her breath easing, her spine relaxing, her fingers tracing lazy circles on the sheets next to her hips—almost busting with pride. _I did that! Me! _I wanted to perform a victory dance around the room.

As I looked at the perfect angel crashed on my bed, her eyes opened. I watched their focus return before they sought mine. I had never before seen that look on anyone's face, ever. She nailed me with her eyes, deep, contented, tender, potent, and still very, very aroused, and I was completely undone. My cock, almost forgotten in my delirious internal gloating, started a series of push ups under me that were only going to be stopped one way.

I wanted to bury myself in her with a need so sharp I was dizzy. I breathed in her musk to ground me. I began climbing up her body, planting urgent, sucking kisses across her hipbone, her stomach, her ribs. I stopped for long minutes to apologize to the lushness of her breasts, their crinkled pointed peaks—_I didn't mean to neglect you, my pretty twins_—causing Bella to get simultaneously incoherent and bossy with me, as she garbled moans and growls and grabbed my shoulders, pulling me up. I hovered over her, holding my weight on my arms and knees, still smiling.

"Edward." She captured me neatly with that one word. I raised an eyebrow in question. "It's time," she said, setting me free. My hips dropped, lining the head of my cock up with her entrance, and we both inhaled as I pressed in. I watched her face, and as she snagged her lip in her teeth, I stilled. Her eyes widened and she nodded, one sharp jerk of the head. I pushed in more. She was tight but slippery. I pushed in more, and she squinted just a bit, before her chin lifted in the singularly Bella gesture of defiance, rebellion. She dared me with her eyes, and I dropped my hips completely, sinking in her up to our bones. She inhaled sharply, so to distract her, I took her mouth in mine, nibbling and sucking her lips until she gave me her sweet tongue, flicking it along my teeth.

My entire body was shrieking with the need to move, to plunge, but I held still, letting her get used to me. I kept kissing her, letting her set an insistent pace with our lips until _yes! there!_ her hips starting rocking a bit and I moved my lips along her jaw to the silkiness under her ear where I gently sucked and _jesus fuck_ her hips pulled back into the mattress then forward and up, sliding along me and _I'm gonna fucking spill right now_ and her legs wrapped my hips like I was a great big present _give me that gift of yours baby_ and she was twisting her hips up and down circling them along my length and even though she was weirdly cold she was wickedly hot and I couldn't hold back, I was thrusting and she was rising up to meet me and I took her mouth again, groaning into her and hearing her echo it back into me and my head flew back as my hips slammed down and my very soul blew through me and flooded her with spine bending release.

As I rode out the fading pulses, Bella pulled me down hard on top of her. I marveled at how cool and dry her skin was while I was slick and drippy. I slithered against her, making her squirm and hum. Her heart wasn't even pounding like mine was. I was such a lump. A happy lump.

I sighed and looked in her eyes and there, spreading slowly and stealthily across her fabulous face: my smile—_for me_—but now it was colored by something new. Satisfaction? Confidence? Contentment?

Was this… how could _this_ be mine?

"Bella," I marveled at the wonder in my voice. "What you've given me… I'm so honored and so…" but she pressed a finger across my lips to hush me, and shaking her head, pulled me back down to lie in her arms. I buried my face in the shiny brown nest of her hair, and happy there, I slept.


	14. Chapter 14

* * *

Author's note: Having battled me for days, now Bella is spouting off like a flock of macaws. Chapter 14 is of course Edward's and she doesn't even want him to have his turn. So my headache is your speedy update—hurray!

What am I reading when I'm not dealing with her insecurities? Anything by Mrstheking, anything by vanilladoubleshot, anything by tarasueme, and jesus(dot)is(dot)magic's astonishing _In the Land of Milk and Honey. _Go read that puppy_ now._

_

* * *

  
_

**Chapter 13**

I was glad for his sleep.

I needed quiet time to think about what had happened.

Bluntly, I'd had sex. For the first time. With a human.

But in the core of my emotions, something was very, very different.

I listened to the regularity of Edward's breathing, the slow drub of his heart. Baiting an already sorely tempted Fate, I lifted my head, extending my tongue to just barely lick him. His skin was savory. Saltier than blood and less metallic, with something of the quality of acorns. I loved feeling his skin, too: so warm. Yielding. Fragile. I pressed a fingertip in, watching his skin turn white under the pressure, then red when I pulled away. I could smell the blood rushing to the spot, and I wanted to do it again, with more pressure, deeper, to see him bruise, to lick him over top the hundreds of broken capillaries pooling his life force there. I could bite out that blood-filled pulp like a human would bite an apple and relish it. I was struck by how much of a reflex that thought was—the smothering ache to sink in my teeth was fading.

I trailed one hand over my breasts and abdomen, retracing the path of his mouth and hands, committing to memory the heat and suction of his kisses. His lips molding to my body. His tongue making lines of wet lust. His ridiculous hair tickling. And always, the green of his eyes. Like moss, like emeralds, like the northern lights, shining.

My hand dropped lower, to where his hot juices still seeped, slippery to my touch. I raised my wet fingers to my nose, smelling the very essence of him. He was musky like a fox and musty like a root cellar and rich black soil in the summer sun and dark decaying leaves in the depth of the forest. I extended my tongue, tasting, and a wave of hunger like I'd never felt poured over me _through me_ crashing out the other side. But this wasn't hunger for blood. This was Edward hunger, and I plunged my fingers inside again, curling them to pull more of him out and up to my mouth.

His taste was pure heaven slicked across my fingers and lips. This was entirely unlike blood. He was dusty, a little bitter—gluey and astringent. A bit fermented, like beer. Yeasty, like bread. These vague recollections of tastes familiar to humans could not come close to describing him. I'd never tasted anything like this and I wanted much, much more.

I thought back to talking with Tanya, with Charles: my venom would hurt Edward if it entered his body; in his bloodstream, it would make its steady way to his heart, beginning the process of changing him. Too much could kill him outright. Too little could paralyze him, leaving him trapped in nerveless, functionless atrophy. Tanya told me that the men she'd been with told her venom (although they didn't know that's what it was) created anything from a faint tingling to a harsh burning sensation on the skin. Sometimes it left behind a red rash. Some men wanted more. Others cried out from the singe of it.

Edward could take my body parts into his mouth, but if I risked the same with him, my teeth could slice him, introducing venom into his system. Charles had me practicing conscious control of my venom: I produced much less the more I was around Edward; in fact, since having sex with him earlier, there was none. Tanya and Charles had shared their experiences and debated the safety of various actions. It seemed—if I could overcome my bloodlust and raging thirst, and keep my venom from flowing—licking him and kissing him would not endanger him.

That would all be very nice, but wasn't going to help at all with what I was wanting. I still held my fingers in my mouth, having sucked off all his deliciousness. If I couldn't put his… manhood… in my mouth, how was I going to get more of that taste? I simply could not bear the idea of discussing this with Tanya. Especially not with Charles. I'd seen him with Renee on occasion—sometimes it was hard to escape their lovemaking, which could take over the house—covering Charles with her mouth. His enjoyment was obvious. And since the smell of this… semen… this all-male vitality in the house was faint, I assumed she… consumed it? She usually did their laundry, but there were times when their loving lingered on clothing, carpets, blankets, upholstery. The mixture of their combined passion smelled nothing like what Edward had left inside me. It was a pale echo of his seminal nature.

For the first time ever, I truly understood that word.

It made me grin.

I wanted to wake him. Take him. Find out without delay what any venom on his skin might do. But I also knew he needed rest. And laying here with him was the most peace I'd felt in… I really couldn't remember when I'd felt so calm. I could grow to like this feeling.

I replayed in my head the beauty of him, flustered when he answered my knock. The hall light backlit his remarkable hair, bringing out the burgundy, bronze, ginger, and russet tones in the frantic waves and cowlicks there. I'd made my goal for the night to take control of that wild hair and send it running for cover. Instead, its softness, its tickling, its fragrance had bent my will to its service: I had yanked, stroked, tangled, pulled, and combed that wildfire hair until my fingers could no longer tell where I ended and Edward began.

And that proved true for the entire night.

His lips: the softness of mouse fur, the color of garnets, the taste of magic. His hands: warm, strong, tender, confident. His body: lean, muscular, heavy with need, then languid with release. Even his… well, his penis… was appealing: flushed and insistent and really quite… um… adequate in size. It was hot and hard and devastating in my hands, and when he pushed it inside me, I wanted to shriek and thrash with the need it created in me. A need greater than thirst or blood or running or family. Greater than words.

And his mouth: what it did to me. What it made me feel. What _he_ made me feel when he put his mouth on me.

I had been apprehensive. For all Tanya's coaching, I didn't know what to expect. I was successful—accomplished, even—at bringing on my orgasms, and I certainly found it pleasant and distracting. But even though I did, as she so brusquely stated, "know the mechanics," I had no clue what I might feel. I was too concerned with controlling my urge to bite, to drink, to kill, that I hadn't given much thought to what the activity of making love entailed. I enjoyed being physical, I was comfortable in my skin, and I was a quick learner. What more was there?

Edward's mouth, his luscious lips and avid tongue demonstrated what an ignorant fool I'd been. For decades, I'd assumed my existence was a horror. My life was forfeit, my monster whimsical in its demands. While there was solace in reading and nature and writing and art, day to day living was mostly a constant exercise in control. But the concentrated ecstasy of Edward's mouth between my legs was nothing I knew existed. All those days without that explosive purity of joy: I'd never get those days back. If I lived a thousand years, I'd never tire of that wet, teasing heat, that flicking, taunting gesture that was Edward's tongue. I no longer wanted to bite it. I wanted to _be_ it.

At first, I'd had to dazzle him, especially when he touched my bare skin and felt my chill. I could see in the tightness around his eyes and the clench in his jaw that he was puzzled by my skin; to humans, it would feel cool and unyielding. But I used the pull of my gaze to not so much change his perceptions, as to make what he sensed more expected, less odd. I could see the ambivalence fade from his expression each time I dazzled him. And I could also tell he liked the feeling of being dazzled; humans always did. They actively sought out things that would give them that feeling—a beautiful person, a sunset, a storm, loud music, choral voices, movie explosions, high speed, uncontrollable laughter, rollercoasters—they craved the sensation. It was just one more way we were their perfect predators.

But once we were naked on Edward's bed on the floor, I could see in his eyes that the very sight of me was dazzling to him. He was dazzled touching me. Dazzled kissing me. There was nothing I was or could be that would have made him stop. Well, maybe if I'd let my true self come out to play, but I was holding the monster on a very short chain, and it was something I hoped Edward would never see when he looked at me.

By the time I'd come against Edward's talented mouth, it was him that had me dazzled. He could have done anything to me and I would have welcomed it. When he sank his whopping erection in me, it wasn't remotely comfortable, but I didn't care: he could have split me open and I still would have begged for more. I didn't come, but when he did, that was just as precious. Knowing my body made him feel that good was the biggest aphrodisiac in the world, and when he had filled me up with my new favorite taste, it beyond any expectations I'd had.

And learning to come on his cock was going to be wicked fun.

The darkness beyond the windows was lightening to gray. As much as I wanted to never leave, I sat up and looked around for my clothing. I leaned carefully across Edward, not wanting to disturb him as I reached for my panties. But I was secretly glad when he stirred and mumbled. I kissed his shoulder and said, "I should go."

Edward's eyes flew open in surprise. "Bella!" he said, his voice thick with sleep. Then he visibly relaxed and folded me in his arms. "You're here."

I snuggled into him, smelling his drowsy aroma, and mmm'd my satisfaction. I rubbed my lips over the stubble on his chin, enjoying the sandpaper texture, and repeated, "I should go."

Edward's arms tightened around me as if he could actually stop me from moving—as far as he knew, that was true—and he murmured into my hair, "You should stay." His hands rubbed up and down my arms.

"I have class in a few hours," but I made no move to leave.

"You have _me_ right now," he practically purred. His hands moved down my waist to stroke along my thighs. I could see outlined under the sheet that all of him was awake. Up. Standing up. _Attention!_ He certainly had mine.

I kissed him all over his face and pushed my fingers through the brambles of his hair. He made happy sounds in his lickable throat and I could feel myself getting wet for him. His warm hand moved between my legs, cupping my pubic bone and pressing hard, curling his fingers against me, and my head fell back. He chuckled at his obvious power over me and I flicked him with a backhanded smack.

"Ow!" he cried, rubbing his arm, before shoving me off him. He stood up, lithe and graceful and extraordinary. I swallowed, expecting venom, but there was none; all my lust was centered between my legs. I tried not to whine, "Where are you going?"

He motioned toward the back of the house, "I need the toilet. Did you find it already?" Ah, human needs. I nodded, then swallowed hard as he turned his back to me—if the front of him was gorgeous, this view was unreal. His broad shoulders swept into a narrow waist. His ass was round and tight and I wanted to grab him there with my teeth. His long legs were muscular from running. All of him was slender and neat and just plain fine. I couldn't help the groan that escaped me and there was a smile in his voice when he said over his shoulder, "Don't fret; I'm not going far."

For my entire existence, that sort of arrogant presumption was exactly what I'd disliked about men. Even Charles had a smidge of it, and it could raise my hackles faster than anything. But what Edward just said made me feel reassured, anticipatory, smug. That potent perfection was coming back. _To me._

And I wasn't going anywhere.


	15. Chapter 15

Author's note: One of my favorite writers, LolaShoes, kindly granted me permission to use her wonderful phrase "Lake Edward" in this chapter; if you haven't read her work, what are you doing here? Go now and be amazed.

* * *

**Chapter 14**

I stood at the sink, toothbrush in hand, staring at myself in the mirror. What was different? I looked the same—if more rumpled than usual. But something deep down felt… what? Satisfied? More than that. Horny? Without a doubt? Focused? Entirely so.

There was a disheveled angel waiting for me in my bed. She had chosen me to be the first man to be inside her, and not only was I deeply honored, I was addicted. I never wanted to be anywhere else.

When she had appeared at the door, I was surprised. Fucking elated, but just not expecting her to simply show up. And _oh my god_ the sight of her in a skirt. And her hungry kisses. Talk about losing my mind and coming to my senses!

Always before, intimate times were awkward with women. Bumping noses trying to kiss. Fumbling and grunting over clothing. Nervous snickers. And the uncomfortable aftermath—would I sleep over? Would I see her again (women always wanted to see me again, but I was never all that sure how I felt)? Would she be willing to share me with my music. And all for something that was… good. Hell, in the moment it was _great,_ but somehow the sex never seemed worth all the trouble.

In just a few short hours, all that had changed for me. I wanted Bella. Not just sexually, although that was pretty fucking prominent right now. I wanted her with me. Alongside me. I wanted to know everything about her. I wanted to meet her family and friends. I wanted her to meet mine. I wanted quiet times. Sad times. Tough times. Happy times. And I wanted her to want all that with _me._

Thinking about last night with Bella had me down the hall without even thinking about it. I rounded the couch and stopped dead, taking in the sight of her. She was completely still, in that way she had, staring out the big windows at the rolling clouds—there would definitely be rain today. The sheets were bunched down by her ankles, her long limbs gracefully flung across the mattress. Her hair spread around her head, the dim morning light turning it black.

Everything about her was perfect. I couldn't believe that she was here, with me—that last night hadn't been so awful that she'd run screaming, or worse, slunk away in the middle of the night. Suddenly, I needed to talk to her, to make sure she was all right. "Bella?" I said softly.

Focus returned to her eyes, and she slowly turned her head to look at me. She took in all of me, no sign of embarrassment or distress on her lovely features. Her gaze lingered on my morning wood, bigger and harder for her than I'd ever been, and her lips curved up in a wicked smile. Her eyes flicked back to mine, inviting me to join her.

I wanted to fall on her and ravish her, but I kneeled on the mattress, keeping my distance. Holding her eyes, I asked, "Are you sore? Would you like a hot bath? I have aspirin and juice?" She looked at me for a long moment, her face relaxed, almost blank. Then a tender smile broke on her face, lighting up my room and my heart. She lazily moved her hand to my knee, tickling over my skin, making the hair stand up. When I didn't move, she extended an arm up to draw me down next to her and my body obeyed. But I held myself apart a bit, propped on an elbow, looking down at her. I wanted to take care of her as much as I wanted to fuck her; she needed to hear how much this all meant to me.

"Bella," I said, "about last night…"

"Shhh," she hushed me, shaking her head.

"No," I spoke softly, but insisting. "That you picked me to be your first. That you let me share that with you. I feel honored. And I want to apologize."

Bella's face scrunched in an adorable look of total confusion. I pressed on, "I know it was all too fast. I know I rushed you and it wasn't good for you…"

Understanding dawned, her face cleared. And then, she laughed.

She roared. She rolled on the bed, grabbing her stomach. She snorted and gulped. _What the fuck?_ Finally, she looked at me, her eyes dark and shining with merriment, just grinning, "Oh Edward."

"What? What did I say," I pouted.

"You _rushed_ me? It wasn't _good_ for me? Did I say 'stop'?" I stared at her. Her eyes softened and she sat up. She leaned over, pressing her mouth on mine, moving her lips until mine parted. She flicked her tongue over my teeth. _She's fucking delicious, even first thing in the morning! How the fuck is that possible?_ I moaned in response to her tongue's demands and she straddled my lap before I could sense she'd moved.

My hands cupped her fantastic ass, scooting her forward until my cock was sandwiched between us, and she wiggled her hips, making me hiss. I could feel how wet she was against my thigh, and as if to emphasize the fact, she ground down on me, growling in her chest and _I am the luckiest man ever_ and her arms twined around my neck pulling us impossibly close.

"Bella," I gasped against her mouth. I pulled back just enough to push out the words, "I want this to be good for you. I want to be good for you."

Bella released me and fell back on the mattress with a whump. She blew out a breath and impatiently brushed her hair away from her face. "Edward," she said, her voice firm and certain, "Did I come against your mouth?" I winced at the baldness of her words, but nodded. She crooked a finger at me and I leaned in. Her eyes gleamed devilishly and she beckoned me closer. "Do you remember what you did?" I gulped, nodding again. She grabbed my hair and pulled me roughly down until my ear was right next to her mouth. She sighed against my face and whispered, "Let's see if that was a fluke then, shall we?" And she grabbed my cock hard, jerking me forward.

I crashed down on her. Her legs flew around my waist, pressing her wetness on me. I covered her mouth with kisses, grabbing with my lips and nipping with my teeth. She bucked and writhed like a wild thing, grunting as she clawed her fingers in my back and _it was so fucking hot_ my balls clenched.

I nibbled my way down her jaw and her neck, my hands cupping and pulling her breasts until I could get my mouth on them, covering them both in turn with licks and kisses and pressing them together so I could lick across her nipples fast and hard. I slid down her body, nuzzling, licking, stroking every inch if her wonderful skin. As I settled between her legs, her calves draped over my shoulders, I could smell her arousal. Her fingered threaded through my hair _I fucking loved it when she did that_ and she tugged to pull my face in closer.

"God, Bella, I fucking love eating you for breakfast," I said just before I dove in. I licked her in circles and figure eights. I used broad strokes and pointed ones. I bit her and pulled on her swollen folds. My fingers tugged her soft curls and kneaded her inner thighs. I pushed my tongue in her wet pussy, straining my neck muscles to get in deeper. I pressed my teeth around her clit and sucked hard. I pressed a finger into her tightness and she moaned, "Edward. More," so I gave her another. I curled my fingers up and forward inside her to find that little nugget that would bring her release and it did and she was bucking, twisting, and drumming her heels on my back and my ears filled with her sounds _oh baby you're driving me insane_ and she was mostly calling for me and God. And I don't know about him, but I was definitely coming.

I blew in to the sheets, soaking my stomach, and timed my tongue strokes with my pulses to bring Bella back down with me. Her fingers relaxed in my hair and I laid my cheek on her thigh, panting and tasting her and smelling her all over my face _so fucking wonderful_ when I heard her voice low and just fucking gone say, "No. Definitely not a fluke."

As I calmed down, I realized what I had done. I'd come all over my sheets like a wanking twelve year old. How was I going to explain this to Bella? No chance I could get up without her noticing: I was lying in Lake Edward.

As I considered what to do, a furious blush crept over my skin. This was totally fucked up. My face must have been really hot, because Bella said, "Are you okay?"

Without lifting my face from her thigh, I nodded and replied, "I'm a little embarrassed here." I felt her prop herself up on her elbows so she could look at me. _Shit!_ Here it comes. Literally.

"What's wrong, Edward?"

I still didn't lift my head. I didn't want to see the look on her face when I told her the man she'd trusted her virginity to had just rubbed one out on his bed while licking her delectable pussy. "Well," I started, feeling my blush only grow, "I was enjoying you so fucking much"—Bella chuckled softly at that—"and I sort of… um…" _Holy motherfucking monkey twats, Cullen!_ "I sort of camealloverthesheets."

That expression: silence is deafening? It _is. _The room was so quiet, it made an ultrasonic hum. I was going to have to look at her.

I forced my head up and met her eyes. Whatever I was expecting, it was not the look on her face.

Bella looked… _oh my sweet lord,_ she looked horrified. I propelled myself up and off the bed and into the kitchen with the speed of a baseball hurtling toward the cranky old neighbor lady's picture window, silently berating myself for the everlasting oaf I was. I snatched at the paper towels so hard the roll flew off the holder and shot across the room, unfurling towels as it went. I could only ball up a massive handful and swipe at my stomach as I stumbled back to my room, apologizing to Bella before I even got through the doorway.

"Bella, I am so, so sorry. That was just unbelievably crude and insensitive and I'll never…" I was brought up short by the sight in front of me.

Bella was kneeling on the mattress, her elbows bent out from her shoulders, lowering her head down where she was… _baby infant Jesus in a high chair!_ …licking the puddle on the bed. Licking my come off the sheets. Lapping. My. Jizz. Like she's a cat and it's fucking cream.

At my approach, her head snapped up and she snared me with her eyes.

They say that when you're in an accident or getting mugged or some such life-threatening situation, time slows down and every thought becomes magnified. I can absolutely vouch for the truth of that statement. A hundred thoughts tore through my brain in a Michael Phelps second:

_That is the single hottest thing I have ever seen in my life. That is the single hottest thing I will ever see in my life. That is the craziest, weirdest thing I have ever seen. Who has red eyes like that. How does a person have red eyes. How does a brown-eyed person have red eyes. How does the woman I just went down on have motherfucking red eyes. I can't breathe. I can't move. I am naked. I am completely asswiping naked. I have never been so naked. I'm gonna throw up. My balls are climbing up in my gut. I know where every hair on my body is. I am shit out of luck. I am shit out of time. She is gonna kill me and I am gonna die._

My knees shook. I inadvertently took a half-step forward and she growled at me. So fast I couldn't see her move, her head snapped down and came up with the wet sheet in her teeth, her lips pulled back in a feral snarl.

Without even knowing it, my hands had covered my crotch in that age-old "holy shit" gesture. I was shaking, queasy, dizzy. I could not process what I was seeing and feeling. Had I somehow been teleported to an alternate universe where the girl of my dreams had become… what _had_ she become? If I went back in the kitchen, would I return to my beautiful angel lying on my bed, giggling about my shameful explosion?

The only thing I could think to do was give that a try, so I turned my back on the… Bella-like thing on my bed and went back into the kitchen. Before I could draw a breath to clear my head, the front door slammed with enough force to shake the house.

I catapulted into my room and skidded to a stop. Bella was gone. Her clothes were gone. I stared at the rumpled bed, bewildered, numb. I sank to my knees with a thud, pressing my face in the covers and inhaling deeply. Bella's delicate flowery fragrance was there, proof I had not gone mad. I sat back, lifting the sheet and carrying it to my nose as I stood back up. I tried to still my whirling thoughts with the smell of her, to make sense of what had just happened by anchoring myself in her scent. I snuffled, digging deeper into that divine aroma, finding my way back to sanity, beginning to believe I had been locked in a nightmare when the chilling wet spot clung to my skin and I thrust the sheet out at arms' length to toss it away and _what the everloving fuck?_

I held the sheet up against the gray light coming in through the windows and gawked. There, in the middle of the wet spot, a perfectly crescent-shaped slice bled light through the cloth. It looked… familiar. It reminded me of… something. _Goddammit, Cullen, think!_ My brain coughed and sputtered, popping the clutch of my thoughts. My heart thundered in my chest. The blood drained from my head.

The hole in my sheet was the size and shape of Bella's scars.


	16. Chapter 16

Author's note: Welcome to all my new readers! Thanks for putting me on alert or making me a favorite—I love you all. I'd love you more if you'd review (they truly make me want to write more!). I always write back and sometimes I send previews. Tell me why you like Edward—mine or the real one; tell me why you think vampires are groovy. Tell me what you ate for breakfast.

My answers: read this story; their addictive sexuality; corn muffin and fried apples.

Music: Paul Bevoir: _Stop That Girl;_ Richard Thompson: _Vincent Black Lightning;_ Alejandro Escovedo: _Thirteen Years;_ Shawn Colvin: _Shotgun Down the Avalanche _(the new live version is sublime).

* * *

**Chapter 15**

I ran.

I moved with such speed no human could have seen I was naked, holding my clothes wadded in my arms. Close to where my truck was parked, I ducked behind a dumpster to pull on my sweater and skirt, not bothering with undergarments or shoes. And then I drove.

I drove fast and furious all the way to the Park. I got there in half my usual time. Several times on the way, I picked up my phone, but I didn't want to talk to Charles. I didn't want to talk to anyone. When I'd died, I was a grown woman, for god's sake! And now, I was older than dirt. I knew what I wanted and I didn't need family or friends to tell me.

I wanted Edward. And I had made it impossible to have him.

I pulled off the road and stopped. I leaned my head on the steering wheel, feeling utterly defeated. How had this happened? How had I let this happen?

One minute, I was awash in the sensations of Edward's mouth, Edward's hands, Edward's sounds, submerged in feelings I didn't even know it was possible to have, and I wanted more, more, forever more. The next, he was staring at me in abject horror as I licked and bit his bedclothes where he'd come.

I didn't like to think of myself as a dimwitted being, but there was no other word for my behavior: had I truly believed that the monster was under my control? I had relaxed my vigilance in trade for my own pleasure, and my reward was revealing my monstrosity to Edward in its purest form. I might as well have taken him on a hunt with me. He may have even found that easier to comprehend.

In my distress, I was rocking back and forth so violently, the truck was lurching on its wheels. I got out. I needed to move. I began to trot deeper into the woods.

Seared into my brain: Edward's gorgeous features contorting in confusion and fear. I moved faster, trying to outrun that image. His fabulous, deliciously skilled mouth, that had me crying out my passion, falling open in disbelief before twisting in disgust. His eyes, filled with anticipation and desire, clouding with trepidation and disbelief. His tall, athletic body collapsing on itself in disappointment then dismay.

I flew through the trees, my surroundings a blur even to my heightened senses. My thoughts gushed and yet were completely mired in my turmoil. They spun tornado fast, violently building up inside me, ready to burst through my carefully constructed control. Somewhere around my feet, a raging tide of terror and anger swelled into a wave of epic proportions, threatening to drown me, bury me, obliterate me. Like an engine running without oil, I locked solid, frozen, immobilized, and sobbing, I crashed to my knees. A scream ripped from my very gut, up and out, feeling like it tore my lips and tongue off my skull as it rocketed to the heavens. I screamed and screamed, until my voice cracked and broke and silenced from the strain.

I wanted him. I wanted him. _Oh dear god_ I wanted him. I wrapped my arms around my torso, holding onto my body, my sanity. His smell, his taste, his come, his beauty, his very life. Could I go on without those things in mine? Would I?

I rolled forward, crushing my face in the earth. How long I stayed balled up I don't know. A coyote snuffled up to me. I was vaguely aware of its nervousness and abstractly interested—as though I was observing myself from far off—that I had no thirst for an animal I would normally enjoy consuming. With my mouth pressed to the leaves, I muttered, "Scat!" and then giggled fitfully. The coyote growled at me in alarm, but I didn't lift my head, and eventually, it loped away.

A great heaviness took over my limbs; I couldn't move them. My dead heart felt like it was dying all over again. There was a tickle in my throat and I coughed; it came out as a sob, and as soon as one was released, more followed until I was retching, hacking, choking. I needed no breath, but I drew in one after another just so I could expel more heaving cries. My body convulsed on the cold forest floor, my fingers and toes digging down as if relief lay below me and if I could just go deep enough, I would be okay. As I gulped a few last times, I knew I could dig all the way to China and there would be no solace for me.

There was no place of comfort on the earth. Everything in my years of existence had distilled down to those fleeting few hours of bliss I'd felt in Edward's arms in Edward's bed. But never content with a little when it could take a lot, the monster in me had destroyed my moments of happiness so thoroughly it might as well have never happened. In its place, a hollow, throbbing grief was taking form in exactly my shape and size. By the time it was done with me—if ever it _was_ done with me—I would be an exact replica of Isabella Swan, made entirely of the blackest sorrow.

Gradually I became aware of a dull longing in the pit of my stomach. Slowly, over hours, and as darkness fell, it grew to a ravenous craving that consumed my every thought. Its name was Edward. Edward Cullen. A human I would never see or smell or taste again. For the rest of eternity, he was lost to me.

Until that exact moment, I had never known exactly how long eternity was.

888888888888

Far, far away—down in my pocket—my phone buzzed. Such a peculiar concept: a phone. A device for getting in touch with someone. How did that work exactly? Getting in touch with someone was precisely what I wanted to do. I wanted every fiber of my being in direct contact with Edward. Skin. Hair. Breath. Lips. Fingernails. Knees. Heart. Could this small box of electronic mumbo-jumbo put me in contact with Edward's heart? So I could beg his forgiveness for the monster I am? So I could apologize for ever speaking to him, touching him, desiring him.

I pried the annoying thing from my pocket and stared at it; how did this work again? Oh yes. I pressed a button and the screen lit up. I squinted at it. Who was Tanya? I slid my fingertip along the screen, staring. A faint sound—what is that called?—oh yes. A voice. Coming from the little box in my hand. "Bella?" it said.

I knew that name. She was someone I used to know. Bella.

The voice came again, louder, "Bella!" I jumped and dropped the phone.

"What is going on?! BELLA!" the voice yelled from down by my knees.

"Yes?" I creaked from my broken throat.

"Beauty, where are you? You sound so far away."

I sighed. I picked up the phone and brought it up to my face.

"I don't know where I am. I guess I'm gone."

Like it was talking to a frightened child, the voice called Tanya said slowly and distinctly, "Bella. This. Is. Tanya. What. Is. Wrong."

"I'm here, Tanya," I said, then added quietly, "at least… I'm somewhere."

"Oh, Beauty," Tanya said, "Tell me what's happened." I didn't respond; my mind was blank.

"Bella!" Tanya barked, and I sputtered, "Yes!"

"Charles told me you were headed to see the man. Edward."

It sounded like she was saying EAHHHD-waarrrd. What was that word? A name? EAD-werd? Edwerd? Edward. Edward. _Edward._

I sobbed, a visceral noise.

"Oh no, Beauty. You didn't kill him?"

I let the silence stretch out in front of me. I inhaled hard to control myself and said, "I might as well have."

I pushed myself into a sitting position; my brain did not want to hold a conversation and my mouth did not want to form words. The very idea seemed alien. But somehow I knew that the sooner I got this over with, the sooner I could go about the business of leaving.

My teeth felt permanently locked together. I consciously relaxed my jaw. I forced my voice into a semblance of normalcy. It still sounded tinny and distant.

"It was everything you said it would be. _More_ than you said it would be. It was the best thing I've ever experienced. Ever."

Tanya wasn't the hesitating kind, but there was uncertainty in her voice, "Are we talking about blood or sex?"

"Sex. But it might as well have been blood. I want him so… I _wanted_ him so much. Especially the taste of him… his skin… the taste of his… juices."

"Uh huh…" Tanya paused.

I had to fill the silence building between us lest I go mad and scream and crush the phone to bits. "You were right: his body sings to me. My body is tuned to his like a violin and when he plays me, we make the most glorious…" I simply could not say that word. That word and all it meant was lost to me. Edward was lost to me. My throat constricted against the sobs that were pushing up and out again.

"This is all to be expected, Bella. Since it is new to you, I understand your being overcome. But why did you say 'I'm gone'? That doesn't make sense."

How was it possible to ask answer that question? The world spun on its axis; it just did. Gravity made the rain fall down; it didn't fall up. And I would never see Edward again. I just wouldn't. He wasn't dead—I was. And death was a barrier that even love could not cross.

_Love._

Did I love Edward? He was human. I barely knew him. And yet. And yet, the idea of being without him was like flames consuming me. I was reduced to cinders and ash, never to recover, never to be whole. The hell I'd always expected to define my existence was truly here. I would burn in my hell without Edward forever.

"Bella, what did you mean when you said you were _gone_?"

"I'm leaving."

"Your family is leaving Washington?" There was a hint of excitement in her voice, as though she expected a visit to Alaska. I'd squash that just like I'd squashed my future. "No," I spoke flatly, "I'm leaving my family."

"Bella, what are you talking about? You sound… what happened?"

I blew out a sigh. The pain was still too fresh. I welcomed it. I would hug that pain to me for the rest of time, so that my hell would be as hellish as I deserved. Part of nurturing that pain was to turn the paradise that was Edward into something hard and cold and clinical.

"We had intercourse. He ejaculated in me. I tasted it. I've heard Charles talk about drug addicts—I was immediately addicted to his taste."

"Did you bite him? Oh my god, Bella, you bit off his penis?!"

I briefly considered laughing, but I would never laugh again. "No. Nothing like that." How could Tanya think I would hurt him; didn't she know that's why I was leaving? "After he slept"—I heard Tanya's sharp intake of air, but I wasn't about to be interrupted—"I initiated more sex. He ejaculated before he meant to. He was embarrassed"—I almost asked her what he would have to be embarrassed about, but what was the point? I'd never see him again—"and left the room.

"I couldn't stop myself; I wanted to consume his semen. When he returned, he saw me licking the sheets."

"Well, that's a little weird, but if he was okay with it, I don't see the problem."

"He most definitely was not okay with it, Tanya."

"Did you ask him?"

"I didn't have to. He saw me biting his sheets. He saw what I was. The look on his face…" Edward's expression swirled in front of my vision and I momentarily lost all equilibrium. I snapped back to Tanya demanding, "_What _did he say?"

"I told you," I snapped, "He didn't say anything. I smelled his fear. He was terrified of me. He fled. I left his house." I swallowed a sob, "I'll never see him again."

"Have you talked to Charles?"

"No. And I won't."

"Bella, where are you? I'm sending Charles to you."

I held the phone away from my ear and looked at it. It looked so unfamiliar. I couldn't imagine why I needed such a thing. I crushed it to shards and let it fall to the leaves. One of the splinters of glass stuck in my palm. I pushed it through and out the other side. I stared at the hole it left. It should have hurt a lot more than it did.

I wended my way back to my truck. There was no hurry. The Park was swathed in darkness. I usually took pleasure in the Park at night. Not tonight. Never again.

Where the trees opened up, exposing patches of sky, the clouds reflected back the lights from Seattle. Edward was there. Those lights were coming from where Edward was. I stumbled over a root and fell flat. I lay there for a moment or an hour. I watched a millipede crawl toward my face. I felt it ripple along my eyelashes where they brushed the dirt.

At some point, I got up. I jumped into the bed of my truck and unlocked the tool boxes. Inside were my clothes and a few personal effects. I lifted out a photograph of Charles and Renee. I looked at it for a long time, having difficulty recognizing them. Then I crumpled it and tossed it away from me. I almost did the same to my journal, but after flipping through random pages, I put it back. There were textbooks and notebooks. I flung those back toward the woods.

In the very bottom, Edward's sweater that he had draped over me that first night. I gathered it up tenderly, like it was the most precious thing in the world. I guess it was: it was my only link to Edward now, I brought it to my face, inhaled deeply and…

… the sky was boiling with sun. The very air wavered in the heat. The horse under me was wet with sweat as I dug in my heels to make him go faster. _Away!_ I must get far away. At pounding speed, he jumped a gully and I slipped sideways, jerking his mane; at that point, he'd had enough, and with a violent buck, he sent me spinning into the side of the ditch, my head splitting open, my blood dripping into the parched ground. Paralyzed from the neck down, I couldn't move. My eyes were caked with dust. I couldn't seem to produce tears to clear my vision. How long I lay there, baking and bleeding, I'll never know. I was certain I had died when I heard the deep tender voice of an angel telling me he would help me. I could just make out his glittering form shading me from the sun. He tore open my muslin blouse and lifted up my skirt; I tried to scream, believing he was raping me, but no sound came. The only violation I felt was the angel's lips caressing my neck, a sharp, slicing sting, and then, after a time, unspeakable agony. Pain like being pierced with thousands of needles. Blistering cold. Numbing heat. Being stabbed by icicles and flames. Being bathed in acid and scrubbed with cactus. I screamed until my throat shredded. I cried until only blood leaked out. And after an infinity of torment, my innocent heart simply stopped.

My life as a monster had begun.


	17. Chapter 17

Author's note: More than short and less than sweet; missmelly, WTF?

* * *

**Chapter 16 **

I must have showered, because my hair was wet. I must have dressed, because I was wearing clothes. I must have eaten, because I sat at the table with a mug and a plate in front of me. But I couldn't recall making any of that happen. I picked up my phone and called Bella's number. As it had a dozen times already, it flipped straight to voice mail. I disconnected. I had no more messages to leave.

I called Jazz.

"Finally get some?" he said, by way of greeting. I could hear Alice jabbering next to him.

Ignoring his question, I asked, "When will you be home?"

"We're about twenty minutes away; can I pick up something?"

"No. I just… I'll tell you when you get here." I heard Alice scream what sounded like, "Emmett says you're Culleni the Great Dick Tater" and I clicked off.

I wandered into my room. I stood next to my piano. I closed my eyes, picturing Bella sitting beside me while I played for her, feeling her cool hands on my skin. I imagined I could still detect her flower scent in the air. I stared at the couch. Just beyond, I could see one corner of the bare mattress. In my distress, I'd ripped off the sheets and thrown them in the washer—all I could think to do was erase all the evidence. My smell. Her smell. I wished I hadn't. Now there was nothing to prove she'd really been here.

Bella, in my room. In my bed. Weaving her fingers in my hair. Opening her legs for me. Crying out my name as I made her come. Her incredibly smooth, luminous skin. Her eyes, liquid burgundy rimmed with glowing gold, framed by thick dark lashes. I could dive into her soul through those eyes.

Had I seen her eyes turn red? Could that actually happen? I ran my hands through my hair, over and over, until I was pretty sure it stood straight up. I'd spent the past hours, ever since I heard the door slam, replaying what I'd seen. What I _thought _I'd seen? It was always the same: incomprehensible.

Everything about the night had been unexpected. That Bella had come to me. That she had given herself to me. That she'd worn that goddamned skirt. That every single thing about her was perfect. But at least it was believable. Until it wasn't.

I desperately needed to believe it. Because otherwise, everything I'd been feeling was wrong. And everything I'd been feeling was just so fucking _right._ The color of her voluptuous lips. Her soft, clinging kisses. Her glossy hair. Her laugh. Her voice. The way she moved. The electrifying way she made me feel. The emptiness when we're apart. The motherfucking joy when we're together.

I flung myself down on the couch and pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to stop the image of Bella, crouched like a beast on my bed, her lips pulled back in a ferocious snarl, her ice-white teeth dripping. I was certain I was going insane. It was the only reason that made sense.

The door opened and my sister twirled in. I groaned. I so did not need to be telling Alice any of this. But I wanted to talk with Jasper, and there was no getting rid of Alice once she was on the trail of some juicy gossip. Didn't she have class this afternoon? Maybe I could distract her with Halloween talk…

I gaped at my sister. "Twitter, what _are_ you wearing?" She sashayed away from me and back like a miniature supermodel in Chuck Taylors. Her flower-printed pants were shredded into fringe up to her calves and her gigantic sweater was lopped off short to her tiny waist; it was so big, the neck sagged off one shoulder, exposing a lime green bra strap.

"It's Jasper's! Isn't it the best?!"

I realized she must have stolen and defiled one of Jasper's sweaters and I glanced at him. He made a sour face and a shrug, as if to say, _what're ya gonna do? _I thought about the tidy bite mark on my sheet and knew what he meant.

Before I could open my mouth, she flittered toward the kitchen, "I'm starved. Edward, have you eaten? I'll make omelets." I heard clanking and banging, and sat up. I motioned Jasper to sit and twisted on the couch to face him, picking at a crumb stuck in a seam.

What's up, cattle prod?" He always came back from Emmett's talking like this. Em's influence was undeniable and far-reaching; even my dad was occasionally known to call someone at the hospital a dickweed.

Knowing I likely had minutes before Alice assaulted us, I said, "I had a crazy, crazy morning with Bella."

Jasper's brow went up, but as I could always count on, he was instantly right there with me.

I continued, "We had sex." I ignored the "pah" noise he made. "It was great. It was really, really…" I waved a hand, not needing to explain; I'd heard enough of what came out of his bedroom when he was in there with Alice—he knew what "really really" meant.

"It all went better than I'd expected: I made her come, she wanted me to fuck her, she slept over…" Jazz glanced behind the couch, to the still-naked mattress, and a small smile lifted the corners of his mouth, as if to say _you two tore up the bed, I see._ I gave a rueful smile in return, and said, "It's not what you think.

"Early this morning, when we woke up, I wanted to take care of her—get her in a hot bath and give her some Advil. But she wanted me again, and—Christ crucified, Jazz, she is so hot—and I went down on her and she tasted like me and her all mixed together and she was making these ball-blowing noises"—Jasper was holding up his palms in a "too much information" gesture, but I was on a roll now—"and she was moving like a belly dancer and I swear to God she grabbed my tongue with her pussy"—Jasper groaned out a _Jesus Edward stop_ but I couldn't—"and she came for like whole minutes and I couldn't help it, I was fucking the mattress and I…"

Jasper was leaning into my words and he blurted, "Don't stop _now,_ you raging queen!"

I sucked in a deep breath and blew it back out. "I jizzed all over the sheets."

Jazz exploded, "My sheets?! Dude, what is it with you and your sister ruining my stuff?"

Alice called from the kitchen, "What are you boys saying in there? I don't want to miss anything."

"Nothing, Alice," I shouted back, "Just make with the eggs—I'm starving." I wasn't remotely hungry, but I had to keep her away.

Jasper said, "Sorry, E. Embarrassing, huh?"

"That's actually not the punch line." I could see him wondering what I could possibly have done to top missing the target by a mile. I paused to gather my thoughts; I had spent so much time replaying everything, I wasn't sure if I could go there again. But I had to say this out loud; I needed someone else to hear what I'd… seen and tell me if I'd gone insane.

"I jumped up to grab some paper towels and when I came back to clean things up, Bella was hoovering up my sperm from the bed."

Jasper's eyes grew huge. "Whoa, man, you've got a girlfriend who does porn?" he breathed in awe.

"Yeah, I thought that. At first." _Here goes nothing: either my best friend possesses some form of logic about this that my lack of girl-knowledge has spared me or I'm gonna be leaving this house in a straight jacket._

"I don't know quite how to say this," I couldn't look at Jasper. "She was kind of crouched down with her hair around her face and when she heard me, she looked up and… I don't know… sort of _growled_."

"Growled." Jasper said it as a statement. "Like a dog."

"More like a motherfucking grizzly. It scared the shit out of me. My dick tried to climb up in my ass."

Jasper started laughing. I made a move to punch him and he slapped me away, laughing harder. He sputtered, "So you've got this gorgeous girl gobbling your come and she growls at you and you…" he was gasping, tears rolling down his cheeks, "…_minimize?!"_

"Jasper," I hissed, thoroughly exasperated.

"Emmett's right: you _are_ a pansy." He tried to look sympathetic.

"No, listen. Jasper, this is serious. I don't know if I'm going crazy." Jasper couldn't contain his amusement, and his expression was entirely skeptical.

"When she looked at me, her eyes were red, man." I was shouting now, "Motherfucking stop sign red." Something in Jasper's face changed, and I plowed on, my voice shaking from reliving the fear that had engulfed me. "She looked like she was going to attack me. I sort of stumbled and she went all territorial and shit and she grabbed up the sheet in her teeth and she was like drooling and grunting and I was pretty sure I was gonna crap myself and I… and I…"

"Christ, Edward, what the _fuck?_" Jasper bellowed, his eyes bugging out of his head.

"I left the room." I hung my head.

"You _what?_" Then Jasper started laughing again, a nervous sound. "This is a joke, right?"

I could hear the misery in my voice, "I wish it was, Jazz.

"I thought I must be hallucinating. I turned right around and came back—it couldn't have been four seconds—and she was gone. Her clothes were gone. It was like she'd never been here."

"Holy steaming shit!" I heard a tiny voice and looked up to see Alice, holding out two plates, with a look of utter astonishment covering her small face.


	18. Chapter 18

Author's note: this chapter's awesome music: A Fine Frenzy: _Almost Lover;_ Robin Hitchcock: _I Want You _(on the Mojo release_ Abbey Road Now!);_ Nouvelle Vague: _Master and Servant; _Alela Diane: _White As Diamonds._

_

* * *

  
_

**Chapter 17**

"Renee!" I called up the stairs; I'd been pacing ever since Tanya called me a half hour ago.

"I'm coming, Charlie!" She hollered back, using her pet name for me. I knew she wanted to help—and actually I'd need it; there was a lot of ground to cover—but it meant a change of clothes and shoes, and I was feeling rattled and impatient.

Tanya told me that she'd called Bella to "get a report" on how things were going with the human, Edward. She said Bella sounded strange—not herself—and that Bella had said she had frightened Edward, it would have been better if she'd killed him, and she was leaving the family, meaning me and Renee. Tanya also said that, when she'd told Bella she was going to call me, Bella's phone went dead. Because of the background noises she'd heard, Tanya thought Bella was in the Park. I hoped that was true and I could find her.

In decades spent with Bella, I knew better than anyone that she was stubborn, irascible, and bitter—although less of that in recent decades. But she had always been smart, observant, and quick. She had been genuinely excited about working on her book, and being back in an academic environment. She was rattled by current developments with this human, whose blood sang to her, but nothing we hadn't been able to discuss and engineer. I didn't like imagining what had her so worked up.

Renee came down the stairs, wearing pants and low-heeled boots, a rare sight. Her soft hair bounced around her face and she smiled happily as she handed me a jacket; I didn't really need it, but she enjoyed the actions of taking care of me.

I understood all too well the lure of singing blood. The first time I'd smelled Renee's blood, such a small amount dried on a piece of paper handled by so many humans before making it to my nose, I was riveted by the scent. How could something so faint be so overwhelming? How could something so delicate be so fierce? I would have gone to the ends of the earth to find that blood. I would have killed to possess it. And as it happened, I did.

I murdered the men who had damaged my singer, and I did it gladly. And when I saw that she was beyond repair, I changed her, the Volturi be damned. And standing in our home together, seeing her lovely face and knowing she was mine for all time, made any difficulties worth it.

"I'm ready," she said, fluffing her hair. I put my arm around her and guided her to my car.

I drove much faster than usual. Typically, I didn't want to attract attention of any kind—my livelihood and my ability to help humans depended on blending in, not standing out. But tonight, haste was called for, and we were at the Park in no time. We both had our windows down, and Renee—even though her tracking ability wasn't good—had her head out her window. I drove the perimeter road slowly, breathing the cool night air deeply. There were a million scents, and I waved an anxious hand under my nose, as if that would actually help clear the air. My tension was building up to unbearable levels; normally I relished tracking, but I'd never had to do this with a family member before, and I was having trouble concentrating. What was Bella thinking? Leaving the family? To what purpose?

She used to run away more than she stayed, but that was rare now. And over something that happened with her human? Even if he was her singer, none of this made sense to me. But then, she chided me for my ability to shut out emotions and turn crime scenes into richly detailed puzzles begging me to solve them. And more than once, we'd argued over her volatility. All too often, her emotions switched directions like a narrow road winding around a mountain. I wanted so desperately for her to settle down, find her peace. It likely contributed to my delusion that she could have a human friend. And now, _this,_ whatever "this" was.

We'd driven miles with no trace, when Renee shouted, "There!" She flopped back into her seat and pointed, "Pull over!"

As I did, the high beams caught on a tire track in the overgrown dirt of a ranger access. I jumped out, leaving Renee to turn off the car and follow.

I crouched over the mark: definitely Bella's truck tire, by sight and by smell. At Renee's almost silent approach, I stood and kissed her. "Thank you," I breathed in relief. I could tell by the changing depth of the treads and the spattered dirt that she'd come in fast and left faster. Not a good sign.

Not far off, I smelled Bella's lingering scent. I looked across the tire tracks and saw a crumpled paper, and close to it, a ball of fabric that smelled distinctly of human. I caught it up as I approached the paper. I shook it out and saw it was a wool sweater, much larger than something Bella would wear, although it carried her scent.

_He thought I was cold because of my skin, so he put his sweater around my shoulders,_ she'd said. Was this Edward's sweater? I pressed my nose and mouth into the wool, both inhaling and tasting the air I drew through it. He had a distinctive odor, both more pronounced and more enjoyable than most; I could understand the appeal. I held the sweater to my face, dissecting all the aromas until I was certain I could track this man—if Bella didn't turn up, I might need to speak with him.

While I had been focused on the garment, Renee had picked up the paper and smoothed it out. Her eyes had an unnatural shine as she held it out to me. I took it, and even in the darkness under the trees, my acute sight revealed a photograph of me with Renee, taken by Bella the day she'd started school. She was so animated. We'd all taken a tour of the campus, and Renee and I had posed in front of the library, where Bella told us she might as well just move into it, she was planning on spending so much time there. I sniffed the photo, taking in the smell of paper and developer and my daughter.

I asked Renee to get evidence-collecting bags that I kept in the trunk; I always had archival quality ones, which preserved scent much better than standard stinky plastics. While she went to the car, I raised my face up to catch any stray traces of Bella's smell—there was something further in the trees. I put the photo and the sweater in separate bags and zipped them closed. Then I took Renee's hand and led her into the woods.

Not far in, the most worrisome signs yet. Thrown hard and carelessly, Bella's books and notes lay scattered, bent and torn. Renee held her hand over her mouth, appalled. Bella was never careless with books. She treasured each and every one, and over the time we'd been together, she'd amassed her own library of favorites. Whenever we traveled, she sought out second hand booksellers and antiques stalls, occasionally lucking into a first edition or an autographed copy. She possessed a fair number of classics bought when they were first published: _The_ _Grapes of Wrath, The Great Gatsby,_ and _For Whom the Bells Toll,_ among them. Now I was grateful they were kept at the house. Renee helped me gather up everything, making sad noises over the worst damage.

"Would you take all this to the car, please," I asked her, and she nodded. I handed her the bags and said, "I'm going in a ways to scan for anything else."

I ducked under low branches, instantly aware of Bella's hasty footprints; a human might not see them, but to me, they looked haphazard. She had not been wearing shoes. I detected a few places where she'd stumbled. I followed the trail deep into the trees, until I found a place with crushed leaves and scuffed dirt: she had lain down here, and perhaps rolled. There were holes in the soil that looked like she'd thrust her hands into the ground—she hadn't removed anything—rather, they looked like handholds; if I'd seen them in the side of a hill, I'd think someone was digging in as she climbed.

Something had happened here, but there was nothing to indicate she'd hunted, no blood, no smell of a carcass. Tanya said Bella sounded distressed—did she struggle here with her own emotions?

Renee had joined me, and in my single-minded dissection of the scene, I had missed the most disturbing thing of all: Renee stood over the shattered remains of Bella's phone. If books were her love, the phone was her lifeline. We depended on our phones to not just stay in touch, but to avoid much of the danger that moving in human society was fraught with, providing instant anchors to our own kind, advice, warnings, peace of mind. That Bella had not only abandoned her phone, but destroyed it, spoke volumes about her state of mind. I gathered up the pieces to put in another bag. One long sliver of glass was sticky. I sniffed it. It smelled of Bella's skin and also her venom. It had been in her, no doubt piercing her when she'd crushed the phone.

I was deeply disquieted: this was no minor fit of pique on Bella's part. Destroying books and her phone indicated she was acutely disturbed. I needed no further signs to know that she had indeed run, and likely far.

88888888888888

On the drive home, Renee kept a reassuring hand on my thigh. I called Tanya.

I was too upset to form a greeting; as soon as she answered, I said, "Anything?"

"Not on this end. I've told Kate and Irina to let me know if Bella contacts them. What did you find?"

"It wasn't good." Hearing the distress in my voice, Renee gripped my knee. "Her phone was smashed."

Tanya sighed heavily, "I thought that might be the case."

"She'd thrown away her school books and papers." Tanya gasped; for Christmas one year, she had sent Bella a first edition of Nabokov's _Glory_ in the original Russian, and it was one of Bella's most prized possessions.

"Will you seek her human?"

"I doubt he will know anything. But I have clothing with his scent, if I need to track him."

"She told me he didn't say anything, but perhaps she gave him some idea…"

I sighed, "I suppose, if she was upset, she might have been careless."

The silence stretched. Quietly, Tanya asked, "Will you tell the Tribe?" I opened my mouth, then shut it with a click. I glanced at Renee; her eyes in the dashboard lights looked huge. "Not yet."

"But if she's gone rogue…" making me yell, _"NO!"_ Renee jumped—I rarely raised my voice, but I could not let Tanya finish that thought…

In the early years of Bella's second life, I had been tormented by the thought I had made a rogue. Infant Bella, as the contemporary term would have it, "acted out." In a small human child, this was manageable. Less so in a ridiculously strong newborn with no desire to cooperate and the entire world ripe for terrorizing. Her capriciousness had always kept me vigilant—and there was at least one instance when I thought the Volturi would have me kill her—but it was Bella's own repugnance of killing that saved her. A true rogue, no doubt like the one who changed me, took pride and pleasure in murder sprees, typically not even draining one human before killing and consuming another, then another. And rogues, while reckless, did not typically seek their own demise.

Bella's attempts on her life had been more statements of anguish; I kept from her the deadliness of fire and it never occurred to her. Nor had she ever tried to dismember herself, although back then there weren't machines powerful enough to chop us up. But a modern wood chipper used by road crews—I shuddered to think…

Tanya was speaking, "Charles, I don't want to lose her either, but how can you know?"

"Tanya, you know that I will do whatever I must when the time comes. But for now, she's only been gone hours. She may run this off and be back tomorrow."

"Charles. She hurt _books._ She wrecked her phone. She told me she was leaving you. You didn't hear her voice. She sounded utterly alone. Lost."

I blew out a breath in frustration, "And what would you have me do, Tanya? Summon the Volturi?"

"No. Certainly not," Tanya said, just as Renee said, "Will she go to them?"

I stared at Renee in alarm, "Hang on, Tanya; Renee, what do you mean?" I flipped my phone to speaker so Tanya could hear.

"I was just concerned that Bella may go to _them_."

"Why on earth would she do _that?_" I blustered.

When Renee finally spoke, it was in a whisper, "To die."

My veins ran with ice. "Okay, that's enough talk about the Quiluetes and the demon Italians. Tanya," I said in my most commanding voice, "Call me the second you hear anything."

"I'm sorry, Charles, Renee. I'm just worried too."

"I know, Tanya. I'm sorry too. We'll talk more soon." I disconnected and finished the drive deep in thought.


	19. Chapter 19

Author's note: I've put a word in this chapter that I plan to only use one time; review and tell me what word, and I'll send you a preview!

Music: The Bonzo Dog Band: _Tent_ and _Look Out There's a Monster Coming;_ The Beatles: _Happiness Is a Warm Gun_ and _You've Really Got a Hold On Me;_ Mott the Hoople; _All the Young Dudes_ and _I Wish I was Your Mother._

_

* * *

  
_

**Chapter 18**

"Edward," Jasper said, "I've always thought you were nuts, but this takes Aunt Charlotte's pineapple upside down cake."

"I'm not crazy, Jazz. I know what I saw."

"So what are you saying—Bella's the crazy one?"

I blew out a breath, "Not crazy, exactly, but there's definitely something about her that's real, real different."

Alice approached, extending a plate to Jasper and then to me; I shook my head and waved it away. She shrugged, sat cross-legged in the floor, and started shoveling eggs in her mouth at a terrifying rate. Between bites, she said, "So what's your theory?"

I shook my head. "I truly don't know. I mean, how long have you known me?" I asked Jasper.

"I'm beginning to think too long," he replied sardonically.

"Right, but you've never known me to drink too much, or drug excessively, or go off the deep end and shit."

"Hey, maybe that's your problem," Alice rejoined brightly.

I kicked at her and she made a motion to stab me with her fork. I huffed, got up from the couch, and went to the back of the house, returning with the sheet. They both looked at me quizzically, so I shook it out and held it up to the light. The freshly washed bite mark hadn't frayed much at all; the edges looked like they'd been sliced with a sharp X-acto blade.

Alice reached one small finger to gently touch the opening. "You know what this looks like? Last year, when we made banners for the Music Hall, we cut these half moons in them so the wind wouldn't blow them down." She pouted, "It ruined my design."

"Yeah," I said, dropping the sheet over her head to her muffled protest, "Except that was made by Bella's teeth."

"Whoa," Jasper pulled the sheet off Alice—eliciting another outburst as she remarked we were ruining her hair—and examining the slice. "No teeth made this cut."

"Saw it," I said, pointing to my eye. I sat back down, twisting a corner of the sheet in my hands. When I spoke, my voice sounded like it came from far away, "She has these odd scars all over her."

Alice make a "yuck" face and said, "What kind of scars?"

"Well, she told me she'd been in a terrible accident, so I figured they happened then. But they were exactly this size and shape." For emphasis, I plucked at the sheet.

"Where were these scars?" Jasper asked.

"Well that's weird, too. All over. The first one I noticed was on the side of her neck. Then when she was… when we were… you know…"—Alice made an exasperated noise—"…there were ones on the inside of her wrists and ankles." I felt myself flushing, "And one on the inside of her thigh." Alice flashed a big grin; I knew she'd never take this seriously.

"Alice, I snapped, "this is not about the sex."

"Oh ho!" she cried triumphantly, "You admit to sex!"

Before I could blast her, Jasper interjected, "Pulse points."

I looked at him, startled; I hadn't thought of that.

"All of them this size and shape?" he asked.

"Close enough," I responded. "Some of them were double crescents."

"So," Jasper said, drawing out the word. "Her scars are bite marks."

"Gaaah," I exhaled in frustration, "I don't know.

"But that's not the only crazy thing."

"Ah ha!" Alice cried, "You admit you're crazy!" She leaned down and licked the crumbs up off her plate. Jasper issued a rare admonishment: "How old are you, Twee? Five?" She patted her tiny ass and made kissing noises at him.

Through all this, I remembered Bella at Grounded, licking her tea. How she never finished it, or seemed to drink it really. I told them about that.

"Maybe she didn't like it," Alice speculated.

"She ordered it the second time. And then there's her temperature…"

"Eww, T.M.I." Alice said holding up crossed index fingers in the universal sign for keeping away vampires.

"Fuck it, Alice! I mean she's _cold._ Cold to the touch. All the time."

Alice raised an eyebrow at me. "This is all you've got? She doesn't drink her tea and she's cold? Hello? Buy her a sweater!"

"There is the sheet. And the scars," Jasper murmured, lost in thought.

"Yeah," I snarked, determined to get Alice's motherfucking cashmere goat, "and when I fucked her, her pussy was cold. Put a goddamned sweater on _that,_ Alice!"

Without a word, Alice rose gracefully off the floor, snatched Jasper's empty plate, and flounced to the kitchen, swishing her small bottom in an exaggerated "you're a bigger ass than me" sort of way.

I turned to Jasper, desperate for some closure. He raised his eyebrows and exhaled hard, "What if it wasn't an accident?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well. What if she was kidnapped by a sexual predator or something. Maybe she was tortured. Maybe he liked to bite. That sort of thing could turn anybody into an animal."

"Seems far-fetched, Jazz." He was into military psychology, and he knew a lot about profiling, but I guess being bitten by someone over and over could make anyone act like an animal. I shuddered.

"Think about it, E: she's gorgeous, a college student, and a twenty year old virgin; something scared her off sex. What I'm suggesting could explain a lot about her."

"Yeah," I said, skeptical. "Got any other ideas?"

"I don't know, man. Sounds like you've found yourself a real puzzle. Maybe she's like Sasquatch's daughter or something."

"Big help, Jazz," I muttered disgusted with both my sister and my best friend. I thought at least _he_ would help.

"E," he said softly, putting a hand on my arm. "I'll ask around the psych department. But maybe it's best you just forget her."

I nodded, all the while thinking _fat chance._

88888888888

I went to class, nervous I'd see her. _What the fuck would I say?_ I was really just going through the motions. My brain was in a fog to match the thickest that ever came off the Sound. I couldn't stop thinking about Bella. Her beauty. Her voice. Her long legs. Her fingers in my hair. How I'd never in my life felt better than when I made her come. And then, it would all crash down round me.

As the days went by, and I didn't see her anywhere—and I'll admit, I looked—I started believing it was all some sort of bizarre game, and I was lucky I escaped before she'd tied me up and flogged me to death. Although the image of Bella naked, with a whip, was fuck-all hot. And then the whole thing would spiral down and around again.

I thought about what Jasper had said: explaining all the stuff I'd noticed about her that seemed eccentric and appealing, but could also be viewed as just plain odd. Always being cold. Not wanting to eat or drink with me. How she wasn't sweaty after our run. The caramel taste of her. That way she had of being so still.

Nothing much explained the red eyes.

I tried to go about my usual routine. It was my last year of school, and I wanted to end it knowing what I'd be doing afterwards. I had a recital coming up before the holidays, and my advisor was hounding me to finish "Waiting" for the Carpenter competition; he and I had agreed at the beginning of the semester that this would be the year I'd try—I hadn't been ready last year, but he thought I had enough good pieces to stand out. He felt especially strongly that "Waiting" would be a winner. I couldn't tell him I'd totally stagnated. I barely played, much less wrote, and I was coasting through all my theory work.

Now, I sat at my piano, staring at the keys. Rarely in two decades of playing had I felt so blocked. My head was devoid of sound.

I could almost feel Bella sitting beside me—almost see her graceful, delicate hand reach out, one finger plinking a high note. If I focused hard enough on the memory, I could see her in my peripheral vision. If I turned fast enough, would I catch her there? Would she touch me? Could I kiss her?

I almost jumped out of my skin at a loud knock. My mind flashed to the night not all that long ago when I was working here and a knock heralded Bella's arrival at my door. That knock started what easily was the strangest, most wonderful, most puzzling night of my life.

I opened the door to a strikingly handsome man with dark hair and a neatly trimmed mustache. He was just slightly shorter than me, muscular, with piercing dark eyes. He wore an expensive, well-tailored suit. As I studied him, he produced a business card, which he passed to me. I took it as he asked, "Edward Cullen?" His voice was low, almost soothing.

I nodded, then looked at the card. The first thing I noticed were the words "Private Investigator," and I know the shock must have shown on my face.

"What is this about, Mr… err…" I looked back at the card, "…Swan." _Oh. Shit._

I stepped aside and motioned to the hallway behind me, "Please. Come in."

He stepped past me, and I saw Bella's powerful grace magnified in his movements. I inched around him and led him into my room. "Sorry," I mumbled, sweeping notebooks aside so he could sit on the couch. He turned to me and did not sit. I shifted my weight back and forth apprehensively. "Is something wrong with Bella?" I could feel my breathing hitch. _She hasn't been in class. She hasn't answered my calls. Christ, what is her father doing here? How does he… did she tell him about me?_

He moved a hand from behind his back, and held out a plastic bag. I peered at it and my eyes flew wide in surprise. It looked like… is that my sweater? _Holy shit, what is going on?_

"I believe this belongs to you," he said, and it was not a question.

I reached for the bag, swallowing hard. I opened it and removed my sweater; as it unfolded, I caught a faint floral scent, and my knees almost buckled.

Bella's father reached for me, but he didn't actually touch me. "Here," he motioned, "sit." I sank to the cushions heavily, dropping the sweater on my lap. He sat at the opposite end of the couch, and said "Mr. Cullen, I'd like to ask you some questions."

I'm sure I was goggling at him. "How did you find me?"

Completely ignoring my question, he said, "When was the last time you saw that garment?" I closed my eyes, seeking calm, then opened them to stare at the knitted wool.

"About a month ago, maybe? I gave it to Bella to wear. She was cold." A faint smile played over his lips. This was amusing to him? _What the fuck?_

"And she didn't return it to you?"

"I… um… I haven't seen her in several weeks."

"But I understand from one of your professors that the two of you have a class together?"

"Yes. It's how we met."

Bella's father cast his eyes around my room; when you heard the expression about private eyes sniffing around for clues, that almost seemed like what he was doing. I had the feeling he wouldn't miss anything. But he rocked me to my core when he said, "She spent time here with you."

Trying—with limited success—to summon some level of indignation, I asked, "Mr. Swan, is Bella okay?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, if you talked with the professor, you know she hasn't been in class. She hasn't answered my calls. And… I thought we… she and I… sort of got along well?" I hated that it came out a question.

He narrowed his eyes. I felt like he was boring holes through me. "Did you two fight?"

_Why would he ask that? Has she told him something?_ "Mr. Swan, I need to ask you: why are you here?"

"Edward… may I call you Edward?" I nodded. "She told me you were protective of her." That blew me away, that she sensed that, would tell her father that when we'd spent so little time together. He continued, "She told her dearest friend that she could… imagine herself caring for you." I think my jaw fell open.

I felt his scrutiny like insects crawling on me, but I held his gaze. I hadn't done anything wrong. If anything, it was his daughter who'd messed with me. He watched me closely when he said, "Bella hasn't been home. She hasn't called. She has not contacted her friends. This is unusual behavior for her.

My wife and I are worried."

I heaved out a loud sigh, coming to a decision. "Mr. Swan…"—he interrupted, "Please call me Charles"—and I gave him a half-hearted smile, "Charles, then. You've been forthcoming with me. I owe you the same." His eyebrows went up, but he remained silent.

I motioned to the piano. "Music has been my life for as long as I can remember. My dad says there was never a time I wasn't playing the piano and writing my own music.

"When I met your daughter, I had been struggling with a composition. I don't know if you will be able to understand this, Charles, but Bella gave me music."

Now it was his turn to look surprised, but I plowed on, "Women seem to find me attractive"—he actually sucked in a breath—"I know, right? Anyway, I don't have a girlfriend or even date much. I'm just too caught up…" I waved a hand toward my piano. "But your daughter? I felt… connected to her from the moment I saw her. I enjoyed getting to know her. I enjoyed it a lot." I hesitated, but I needed answers as much as he did. "I want to show you something."

"By all means," Charles said, with a raw look of eager curiosity.

I reached behind the couch and lifted up the sheet from the mattress. I hadn't bought another one, and I felt attached to it in a weird unexplainable way. I lumped it between us, putting my hand under it to show him the slice made by Bella's teeth.

"The last time I saw Bella, she did this to my sheet." Charles reached slowly for the fabric, a look of indescribable tenderness suffusing his face. I watched Charles examine the hole, tracing it with a fingertip. He almost looked like he wanted to cry. _Man, he misses her._ Then he shocked the shit out of me by saying, "She made this with her teeth." _How did he know that?!_

"How did you know that?"

He looked at me, startled, like he'd forgotten I was there. A resigned expression came over his face. "Again, Edward, I must ask you if you and Bella had a fight."

"No!" I was practically shouting, "Things were good. Better than good." I could feel myself flushing red and I couldn't believe I was about to say this to her father, "We had just had fantastic, mind-blowing sex! And then she did _that!"_

"Ah." Charles didn't seem angry. Or taken aback. Or upset. None of the things I expected. His eyes got a far-away look—again something he shared with his daughter—and mused, "In my… family, when we get highly… emotional, we become very… oral. _Christ, what is it with these people and their bizarre way of expressing themselves?_ "Bella has been known to… Bella will bite… things."

He said it like she bit her fingernails. Or chewed on the end of a pen. Somehow, I couldn't quite put slicing a hole in bed coverings in the same category. But he seemed perfectly aware of her… proclivity.

"Well, Edward, "Charles said, slapping his palms to his knees and standing, "I've taken up your time while you were composing. You have my card. If you hear from Bella—anything at all—please call me." I nodded; there was so much more I wanted to ask. But if Bella was missing, this man had more on his plate than I ever would. I stayed quiet as I walked him to the door.

He opened it and went to step through, before turning back to me. He looked long and hard into my eyes, but rather than feeling unnerved, I felt comforted. "I can see you care for her, for her safety, just as she told me. Perhaps it would be acceptable, if Bella contacts me, for me to let you know?"

I released a breath I didn't even know I was holding. "I'd very much appreciate that, sir. Thank you."


	20. Chapter 20

Author's note: Shout out to some special readers who are reviewing pretty much every chapter: DICATACADD, xthesegoldeneyesx, gotellalice, Uns33n (dot) Unkn0wn—I heart you hard. A special shout out to ehee, who is not only reading, but recommending my stories—you are Edward's favorite key and he strokes you over and over. And to all the readers (and it looks like there are about 100 of you!), I love you so much. But Edward won't stroke your keys if you don't review for him…

* * *

**Chapter 19**

I was beyond thirsty.

I hadn't hunted in over a week, maybe longer; I couldn't even remember. If I didn't hunt soon, I'd hurt someone. Did I care? Well, yes: I didn't want my private hell turning into someone else's, just because I was the one suffering.

I'd tried everything I could to suppress the nagging, growing urge, but now it was threatening to take me over and control me, and I would not allow the monster that pleasure.

I hated to be away from Edward, even for the half hour it would take to find a raccoon or a fox. Small mammals wouldn't sate me, but I didn't seek satisfaction. Just something to quiet the demands of my rebellious body so I could get back to the work at hand: watching over Edward.

I had realized almost immediately that I could not stay away—I tried, but I wanted to see him. Want might actually be too mild a word for what I felt. I needed… no, even that wasn't quite it. I had to see him. Hear his velvet voice. Run my eyes over his gorgeous form. Perhaps catch a whiff of his magnificent smell. My very being _had_ to be close to him.

Well.

I needed to be pressed up against him so close there was no room for air between us, but my hell was knowing that would never be possible ever again. Still, I could slack my thirst and return to be near him faster if I drove.

In the weeks since I'd left Edward's bed, I rarely used my truck—one, it was instantly recognizable and two, I had no idea if Charles had cut off my bank card; I didn't really need money, but he might have left it active in order to track me. As the expression went, he would leave no stone unturned in order to find me.

When Edward was at home, I watched from the big tree across the street. There was one large branch perfectly oriented so that I could straddle it and sit with my back against the trunk. From there, I could see through the large windows, watching Edward read, write, sleep, and most important, play. With my heightened hearing, I could listen to him, and when he played the composition he called "Waiting," I swear my dead heart raced. I appreciated it as a fine piece of music, but it was the very idea that I, as he put it, _gave _him the music. It made me feel… valuable.

If I'd had a heart, it would have thundered when I watched him play: his delectable toes bare on the pedals, gripping. The muscles in his back and arms fluid under smooth skin as his elegant fingers stalked the keys. His iridescent hair obscuring his tourmaline eyes. His breath husking through that oh-so-kissable mouth. I even imagined I could hear his throat making tiny grunts during the pounding passages.

And it would have broken over the way his fingers stumbled and stuttered on the keys.

Did I dare to hope he was missing me? I simply could not allow that line of thinking—it was too painful. Yet, I wanted pain—no amount was enough—so I spun out detailed fantasies of how much he yearned for me, and that yearning broke his music into shards and silences of sound. The very idea that Edward missed me: my god, the pain was outrageous.

I decided to run—it would burn off my manic energy and I could stay close to the campus, grabbing a raccoon or opossum at a dumpster, and returning within minutes. Sure enough, behind one of the dining halls, I snatched a raccoon, almost beheading it in my haste to suck it down, toss it in the bushes, and sprint back. I didn't fully register how greasy and sour it tasted. Even a minute away was anathema. If I could have perspired, I'd be clammy with anxiety from being apart from Edward.

As I resumed my post in the tree, I smelled something unusual, but before I could focus on deciphering it, I was arrested by the most beautiful sound in the world. My entire being both twanged like a plucked harp string and relaxed into a deep calm. Edward was playing his piano.

It wasn't the halting music of the past weeks, but a perfect, propulsive symphony of long skilled fingers alternately determined and caressing. Lyrical and emphatic. Peace and power. It was "Waiting."

I stilled myself so that I made no bodily sound to disrupt my hearing. I silently cursed the insignificant breeze stirring one or two leaves. A distant siren would have incurred my wrath had I been able to move. But I was nailed to the spot by the enchanting sounds Edward's fingers drew from his instrument. I started to tremble; I wanted to be that piano so much that—had I been capable of motion—I would have flown into that house and smashed it to splinters and wires, begging him to please touch me that way, make those sounds come out of me. But that too was not the monster's choice to make.

I was enraptured. Then all to soon, the end approached. Before I could feel sad: a short run of new chords; I felt my ears twitch to the sounds like a hare aware of a cat. Edward's hands paused over the keys—had he too felt the tantalizing completion suspended in those tentative notes? I immediately hummed them, committing them to memory. Not quite enough for three-quarter time—oh how I loved a waltz! The swinging sway of long skirts on long legs was a rare moment of bliss in my human life. Seldom was there dancing, and I certainly never got asked. But I would stand on the side, poised on my toes, anticipating that skating rhythm. I would not skate on ice for many decades, but I found in it that same waltzing beat, and it was soothing and exhilarating. In it, I could lose my mind and come to my senses.

Oh.

My.

God.

Lose my mind and come to my senses. Edward said that. _Edward._

It had _always _been Edward.

Edward was the key I had always been missing. He unlocked all that I was, all that I could be.

And I had thrown him away, like a ticket stub in the back pocket of the jeans going in the wash.

I turned to face the tree, throwing my arms around it and cinching it until the wood objected. A sob started low inside me and ruptured up and out, making me bite the bark, locking my teeth there against the brunt of my agony. I didn't know. _I didn't know. Dear sweet lord, I didn't know!_

My eyes clenched tight, my breath whistling in and out of my nose, my lungs rumbling with my building anger. Edward had said my rapidly changing emotions gave him whiplash.

Edward had said he enjoyed taking care of me.

Edward had wanted to learn more about my book.

Edward had apologized that he hadn't made me come.

Edward ran with me.

Edward told me he loved my taste.

I knew then that I was approaching madness. That my path was a never-ending spiral no return. That my eternal life was forfeit. That I was irrevocably Edward's in a magnificent example of irony worthy of Shakespeare: I was entirely his and he had no idea.

I needed to think. It meant being away from Edward, which tore at me like a dog on the mailman's pants, but I needed some space and air. I yanked my mouth out of the tree, bringing with it a hunk of sappy wood. I chewed it experimentally: it was nasty. Bits of it splintered my tongue uncomfortably. This irritation was good. It provoked me. Spitting and hacking, I hopped down and headed for the closest darkness.

As I ran, I hummed a little waltz.


	21. Chapter 21

Author's note: a little music, anyone? Peggy Lee: _Fever;_ Etta James: _I'd Rather Go Blind;_ Barbra Streisand: _Sleeping Bee;_ Billie Holiday: _I Didn't Know What Time It Was;_ Carly Simon: _I Get Along Without You;_ Judy Garland: _The Man That Got Away;_ Carol King: _Natural Woman. _(Missmelly, Babs? Really? First of all, if all you know is _Evergreen,_ don't judge until you've listened; second, I love me some drag queens, so this is for them.)

* * *

**Chapter 20**

Alice wanted Jazz to take her dancing. Perhaps to gird his loins, he suggested we go grab some pub food and have a drink. Or a few. As long as I could skip the dancing, I was in. It was the weekend, and I couldn't wrestle the alligator "Waiting" had become any longer. It was biting me in the butt. Even with the competition deadline staring me in the face, I'd decided I'd rather compose something new than continue to beat myself up with that melody, that reminder of her.

Anticipating the cool autumn evening, I pulled on my sweater that Charles Swan had returned to me, the one he said he'd found in Olympic Park, with her history texts and her broken phone. I wasn't sure if what I wanted was to be close to one of the last things she'd touched or if I wanted to reclaim what was mine, but it comforted me to wear it.

Jasper called Alice to tell her the plan, and we walked over to the College Inn, our local pub that had decent food, better than average "college bar" talk, and a full bar. The bartenders cut off service of their Long Island teas after two, because they were so strong. I was ready for one.

It was pretty crowded already and a game of darts was in full swing. Jazz found a table while I went to put in our order. As I was carrying our drinks back, I saw a commotion moving steadily from the door toward Jasper. People were bending over, then throwing their heads back in laughter, high-fiving and back-slapping. It could only be Alice.

Just as I set down the glasses, my sister burst through the crowd at shoulder height, her eyes alight and her hair even more on end than usual. She had on a tiny plaid skirt and a black and purple polka-dotted sweater. She plopped down in a chair, snatched up Jasper's Guinness, chugged down fully half of it, and let out a gassy burp that had people around us laughing all over again.

"Jesus, Alley Cat, do you know the whole school?" I asked, amazed.

She coolly took in the press of people, squinting her big dark eyes under her perfectly arched brows. "Yup," she said, popping the "P" before grabbing Jasper's shirt in her wee fist and yanking him down for a sloppy kiss. His eyes almost rolled up in his head, and someone yelled, "Get a room!"

Her eyes still on Jasper, she hollered back: "You don't really mean that!" Then to no one in particular: "Sorry I'm late I couldn't decide if I wanted to wear dancing shoes or sneakers and then change but I knew you wouldn't have the car and I hate having a bag at the club the door searches take fucking forever and that one guy on the door the one with all the tribal tats I just know he's not looking for bombs he wants my MAC lipglaze and he looks like he's made of herpes and oh my god did I tell you Mom wants me to make her dress for the big birthday bash?"

I swear by all that is holy, she never took a breath, so I just inserted into the spew, "What birthday bash?"

"The big five-oh is your RAM choking or what you know she's expecting something spectacular did anyone get me sweet potato fries?"

I groaned and leaned my head on my hand, "She's having a party?" Not only would I have to go, I'd have to perform. And write something just for her. Which was all fine, but where was the time coming from? I heaved a big sigh, and rammed my hand through my hair.

Alice shot a critical eye over my head and made a moue with her fuchsia mouth, "I'm thinking leave the front alone and short on the sides and back," and I groaned again, "No haircut, Alice."

Jasper chuckled, "Dude, remember that time your dad had the barbeque for the new chief of staff at the hospital and Alice gave Em that Julius Caesar cut? Oh my fucking god, I thought Carlisle was gonna kill him in front of everybody!" I grimaced at the memory of Emmett bounding down the stairs in a bed sheet wrapped around him as a toga, with gold spray-painted flip flops—which I did not know came that big—and one of Esme's fancy Christmas wreaths on his head like laurel leaves. The contrast between the ensuing hilarity and Dad's anger made me shudder to this day. It took both Jasper and me and all our budding high school strength to haul Emmett upstairs and get him changed. He still broke his desk chair, cursing Dad, civilization, and Alice's "motherfucking retarded" haircut.

Jasper and I ate, while Alice mostly ignored food—Jazz finished her fries and her drink—and regaled us with the tale of her sordid day in design studio. To hear her tell it, "my couture advisor is a flaming queen with the most extraordinary color sense who can do simply anything with fabric but he has it in for women in general except for The Bearded Lady and she can't design for shit but I think he just wants to shave her back," and I decided right then was the time to leave.

I opened my wallet to pay Jazz for fronting my dinner and saw I was low on cash.

"Jazz, okay if I pay you later?"

"Sure," he waved a hand my general direction; he was rapt watching Alice. I was sure it was less her words than the constant movement of her lips, eyes, and hands that had him mesmerized, but who can predict love? That thought made me think of Bella and _that _thought had me feeling sour as I pushed through the people and out the door.

I breathed in the cool evening, glad to be out of the noise, and turned away from the bar to hit the cash machine before heading back to the house. It was a slightly longer walk, and I needed the air to clear my head so I could work when I got home.

For a nice night—which in Seattle meant no hard rain—the streets weren't busy, and I enjoyed stretching my legs in a fast walk. I stopped in the light of the ATM and pulled out my wallet to extract my card when a rough voice rumbled right behind me, "Give us five hundred dollars and we won't pound your pretty face in the pavement."

I looked around in shock. Some older guys stood in a ring close behind me. _Where the fuck had they come from?_ They looked a little drunk, but they were all stocky, and there were three of them. Thinking I could outrun them if I got past, I said loudly and forcefully, "I don't have five hundred dollars," as I stepped right up to one of them. I was counting on the automatic response people had to preserve their personal space, and when he'd move aside, I'd bolt away. But instead, he clutched my arm, while the end one shouted, "Gimme your wallet!" I leaned forward to make a break, yelling, "Get away from me," hoping someone would hear. I felt the pocket of my jeans rip as one of them grabbed for me, and I stumbled through them, sure I was going down, when right in front of me, an engine roared, brakes shrieked, and a cherry red truck leapt the curb.

The door flew open and a voice roared, _"GET IN!"_

In my surprise and fear, I only saw it was someone I knew, and I vaulted in, slamming the door as the truck lurched off the sidewalk and squealed down University Way, narrowly missing a car claiming a primo parking space.

My heart was slamming against my ribs and I felt like someone had turned off the oxygen. I was sweating and shaking, and then it hit me: I was in Bella's truck. With Bella.

For a second, the cumulative shocks were too much for me and I was frozen with dread; if ever I had jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire, this was it.

I was so nervous, I was sure my heart would leap out of my chest; I'd be hard-pressed to pick being here in Bella's truck just inches from her versus being out there with those drunks trying to mug me. Hugging the door, I forced myself to look at her.

And there it was: she was even more beautiful than I'd remembered. As the streetlights flashed across the windshield, her skin shone like it was lit from within. Her hair curled softly across her shoulders and spilled over her breasts. Her impossibly full lips were moist and plump. Her lashes framed her dark—yes, _dark_—eyes. Her hands gripping the steering wheel too tightly were still graceful and _god help me_ I wanted to feel them on my skin. Her floral scent wafted through the truck's cab, and I flared my nostrils to catch it.

"Your seatbelt," she said in her low melodic voice. It made me shiver, but from fear or desire, I wasn't sure. I clicked the belt together, locking myself in place.

I couldn't keep my eyes off her, and it wasn't entirely due to panic. I had spent weeks denying how much I had enjoyed our time together—up until that last bit—and as hard as it was to admit, I had constantly watched for her, on campus, in class—I'd even spent time at the front windows of the house, looking out in case she was there.

"Bella," my voice cracked from tension, "how did you find m… were you _spying_ on me?" I was afraid she'd say yes, yet I somehow hoped she _had_ been following me.

She kept her eyes on the road when she answered, "I've been watching you, yes."

"Why?!" I blurted, shocked and happy. _She'd been watching me. _I didn't know whether to feel flattered or stalked.

Her cool hand took mine, and I couldn't help it, I jumped. She tried to withdraw her hand, but I gripped it tight. Touching her helped ground me, even as it unnerved me. She looked straight into my eyes. "Edward, I can't let any harm come to you. You matter to me too much."

Bella steered the truck to the curb and let it idle while she turned to me.

"So you were following me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I can't let anything happen to you."

"Why?"

"Because I think about you constantly."

"Why?"

"Because I'm addicted to you."

"Why?"

"God, Edward. Your hair. The way you make me feel. Your mouth. The way your mouth makes me feel. Your taste."

She groaned, a primal sound that simultaneously had my cock shrinking and throbbing—how was that even possible? Who _was_ this woman? I stared at her, slack-jawed. She looked at me like she was going to devour me and before I could move, she crashed into me, smashing her mouth on mine, her lips moving greedily. I couldn't help myself—my whole body responded like she was air and I was suffocating, before my confusion rushed back and I pushed her away.

Well, I tried to push her, but she felt like granite. She moved herself backwards as I pressed my hands flat against her shoulders, her mouth still clinging to mine until I pulled back from the kiss, knocking my head on the window. There was an instant look of concern in her eyes, and finally, she sat back in her seat, allowing me to draw in a ragged breath.

"Wait!" I held up a hand in between us. I said again, "Wait."

She nodded. "You have more questions," she said, looking sad.

"Yeah," I drew out the word, not knowing how to begin. "Why did you run away that morning?"

"I scared you. And that scared me." She was admitting _that?_

"What were you _doing,_ Bella? I mean, you were licking my… my _sheets!"_

"Yes," she agreed.

"_Why?!"_

"I believe I've already said—I'm addicted to you," she told me, as if that explained everything.

"But what does that mean?" I could hear the whine in my voice and I hated it, but was powerless to prevent it.

She quickly reached toward me, and I thudded back against the door; her hand froze in mid-air, then she slowly lowered it without touching me. She looked pained.

I didn't know if I could ever be comfortable with her again, but deep down, I wanted her. Was I addicted, too? I forced myself to form words, "I need to understand, Bella."

She bit her bottom lip, her eyes flicking all over my face before settling on my lips. She spoke to them like they would understand her better than the rest of me. I hated that she was right. "Edward," she breathed. "Being with you—being naked with you—is incredible. I've never known anything like it. I love the way your skin feels, its heat, the way your muscles move under my hands. Your hair is so soft, the color so rich—it's like I can _feel_ the color of your hair. Your mouth is so…" she gasped faintly and I wriggled in my seat at the sound, "… and you smell so…" she made a tiny moan, "…and the noises you make when you…" her eyes rolled up as her head fell back and I thought I might take her right here in her truck parked next to… I glanced around… _the Fetherston Gallery_… "…and your mouth makes me…" when her head came up and her eyes met mine and they were A1 steak sauce brown root beer brown nutmeg brown and I was suddenly furious from the emotional whiplash she was giving me.

"And is part of this addiction that your eyes TURN RED?" I snapped at her.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head on the back of the seat. Very quietly, she said, "You saw that."

"Saw it? It freaked me out!" I was panting from agitation. I hoped I didn't pass out, because I needed to hear an explanation before she… _ate me_ or something.

She stared out the windshield. The silence stretched between us like a straining cable on a logging truck on a mountain road and she was still, so still, that creepy stillness I'd noticed before, but never let myself _see._

When I spoke, my voice cracked from the tension, "So. Your dad came to see me."

Her eyes focused, then widened. "Charles? Came to see you? How did he find…" Her eyes narrowed as she took in what I was wearing. "Oh, he's good," she muttered to herself. "What did he want?"

"He was worried about you. You hadn't been home. He thought I might know where you'd gone."

"Ah. Well. I'm sorry he bothered you."

"He didn't bother me, Bella. We were both concerned. You know, he's striking. I can see where your beauty comes from." She ducked her head like she might be blushing, but in the dark interior, I couldn't tell.

Bella sighed, like something heavy was weighing on her. "I didn't get my beauty—as you call it—from Charles; he isn't my biological father."

"You're adopted?"

"I've lived with Charles and his wife Renee for quite a while."

"Since you were little."

"Well… um, no. Actually, Charles took me in after my accident."

"How old were you?"

She looked at me for a long moment; I couldn't read her face at all, when she said, "Twenty."

I'm certain my own face showed my confusion. All of this was feeling unreal. Again. I shook my head, "Bella… I don't… what are you saying? You've lived with Charles for a while—since you were twenty? You're twenty now." I ran my hands through my hair. I looked at her, begging her with my eyes to explain. To make this all go away.

"Edward, I know you have no reason to trust me, but would you come with me somewhere? I need to show you something."

"No more red eyes?" I tried to smile, but it felt like my lower lip quivered like I was going to cry.

Her eyes on my lips again, she shook her head, one sharp shake, and _there was no help for it_ I said yes.

She put the truck back in gear and we merged into the Saturday evening traffic.


	22. Chapter 22

Author's note: one of my many astute readers pointed out to me that Chapter 18's mystery word "vampire" had been used several times in my author's notes; hello? _Author's notes!_ Vampire, vampire, VAMPIRE!!

(I'm not making fun of you, astute reader, I love that you pay attention so carefully—I just wish you'd do it in reviews! Wink!)

My meaning was that I don't intend to use that word but once _in the story;_ Bella will never call herself one, for example. Why do you suppose that is?

* * *

**Chapter 21**

I hadn't planned this. I certainly wasn't sure of my intention. All I knew is that from the moment I had run from him, I had nothing. I had thought it would be enough to fill my existence wholly with watching him. That I could still see him, hear him, smell him, but from a distance where I could be no danger to him. And that worked for a few weeks—I was miserable, but that was part of the point, wasn't it?

Then, I'd heard him play "Waiting," struggling to complete it. It didn't matter whether or not he'd missed me. I was his and I had to make things right between us. I just wasn't sure how.

When I saw him at the bank with the other humans, and I heard his heart thundering with adrenalized fear, I understood that being apart from him was more than foolish; it made no sense now, nor would it ever. I certainly couldn't keep him safe if I wasn't with him. And then, the truth about my foolish ideas hit me full force: I could not bear to see him hurt—protecting him was the most important thing in my world; therefore, I myself could never hurt him. It was shockingly simple.

Yes, I had frightened him, badly. Now, his pulse and respiratory rate alone were telling me that he was afraid to be this close to me. If it took decades, I would prove to him with my every thought and deed that I could not harm him. And I would start right now by telling him what I was—so that he could see my nature and understand my actions. I did not know if I could hope for his acceptance, but there was no hope about anything at all if I wasn't completely honest with him. I would never deceive him again.

I realized I was risking absolutely everything—some things, like Charles and Renee, I had no right to risk, yet I would abandon them, too, if it meant being with Edward. He _was_ my singer, and having known him, I would never again know anything without him.

I invited his questions, and each one pierced my dead heart, but I answered them. I would hide nothing.

I spoke into the silence, "Did Charles tell you that he and I often go hunting?"

Edward's heart rate lurched and I saw his eyes flick uneasily. He stuttered, "You… you… have guns?" I could almost hear him contemplate throwing himself from the truck, and I rushed to reassure him, "No! No guns. Nothing like that." I was already bumbling what I had hoped would be useful; I'd never told anyone about me before. Charles had insisted revealing ourselves to humans be avoided. They could not be trusted, and our very survival depended on their not knowing our true natures. If Charles had chastised me previously for my rebelliousness, what was he going to make of me now?

I sighed. When Charles and I had spent a dozen or so years in London, we had picked up the curious phrase _"in for a penny, in for a pound"_ from petty alleyway gamblers. I said it out loud without realizing I'd spoken, and Edward erupted in panic, "What? Bella, I am so confused. I don't understand what's happening, and frankly, I'm a little afraid of you."

"I know. I am so sorry."

"Where are you taking me?" his beautiful voice sounded thin. "Please?"

"Edward, I know you have no reason to trust me. I want to explain everything, but if I tell you, it will make things worse. Please believe me? I have to _show_ you."

"Show me what?" his voice quaked.

"We're going to the Park. I want to take you hunting."

More silence, and into it, Edward's sob. I looked at him in alarm. I reached for him, and he jumped, crying out, "No, _please,_ I don't want to die."

Okay, this was really going badly. I wrenched the truck off the road. I sat for a moment, listening to him trying to stifle his sobs. I jumped from the cab and stalked away. Make this better. _Make this better now!_

I walked back to the truck, holding my hands in plain sight. I moved slowly. I could see his gorgeous face, covered in tears and snot, his beautiful eyes wild and red-rimmed.

From a yard's distance, I said, "Edward, do you have your phone?" He nodded and held it out to me, looking terrified. I grasped that he must have pulled it out to make a panic call the moment I stepped away from the truck. "I don't want your phone. I want you to call Jasper and tell him where we are. We are on Route 101 near Hoodsport. I'm taking you into the Park by Staircase. Tell him if you aren't back at his house in three hours, to call the police. And Charles." I walked away from the truck to give him privacy for as long as he needed. Actually, I could hear him if I tried, but I didn't try. To distract myself, I hummed a bit of "Waiting."

Eventually, I heard the truck door open and close quietly, then the crunch of gravel as Edward walked up. His voice was still shaky when he said, "You can come back now. Jasper thinks I'm crazy, but I'll go with you."

I closed my eyes and silently thanked the universe. Then I turned to him, and held his gaze. "Let's leave the truck here."

He looked uncertain, shifting his weight back and forth and glancing around himself. "We're still miles from the Park. I told Jasper three hours. You _said_ three hours."

Slowly, making sure he could see every movement, I turned my back to him; I crouched a bit and said over my shoulder, "Hop on."

More silence. I stayed perfectly still. "Bella," he said in a small voice, "This is too weird."

I looked over my shoulder and met his eyes. "I said I could only show you. That's what I'm doing. Hop on."

He blew out a breath, surrounding me with his marvelous scent, and it was all I could do not to moan. He placed his hands gingerly on my shoulders, and I could feel him hesitate, uncertain what to do next. So I just reached back and grabbed his thighs, swinging his long legs up around my waist. With a yelp of surprise, he flung his arms around my neck, and I grabbed them like backpack straps and took off.

I briefly thought we must make quite a sight, such a tall, lean man wrapped around a smaller, slender woman, before I adjusted to the load and pushed my speed. Humans wouldn't notice anything but a blur and think they were "just seeing things." I felt Edward's face tuck into the side of my head, and he was keening his fright in his throat. I shouted over the wind I was creating, "Close your eyes. It will help."

I ran fast, faster. I leapt creeks and jumped ditches. And the entire time, Edward's fingers were knotted in my shirt. After a few minutes, I felt him lift his head, but he quickly tucked it down again. I was surprised I liked the feeling of him on my back. He was warm and heavy and it was just plain thrilling to turn the tables on Guydom by being the one with super powers.

In no time, we were in the Park, and I stopped in an opening in the trees. I crouched down until Edward's butt was on the ground; I was certain he wouldn't be able to stand after his shock. I actually had to unwind his arms and legs to get him to let go. "Edward, open your eyes."

He looked around like a frightened child or a very old person: befuddled.

I walked around in a big circle, stretching my arms and shoulders. After a few minutes, his heartbeat slowed enough that I thought he could follow my words. Although I was pretty certain he wouldn't want to.

I squatted in front of him, balanced on the balls of my feet. I could feel my face soften as I took in his wide eyes, his trembling mouth that I so wanted to kiss, his lunatic hair standing out all over his head, his long fingers white-knuckled on his knees. "Edward," I spoke soothingly, "I brought you here to help you understand. May I show you something?"

It took him a moment to react. All he did was nod his head the teensiest bit.

"Okay," I exhaled hard, looking around. I really hadn't planned this at all.

Trees towered around us. I glanced up, focusing on a branch about twenty feet up. I sprang from the ground to balance on the branch. I'd moved so fast, Edward hadn't been able to follow, so I called down, "Up here."

His head snapped up, and even this far away, I saw his pupils dilate. "Want to join me?" I asked. He shook his head, not taking his eyes off me. I sprang back down, landing lightly a few feet from him. He crab walked backwards in fear.

"Edward, I won't harm you. I didn't save you from those men to bring you out here to hurt you."

His lips barely moved as he muttered "could've fooled me" and suddenly the strain was too much: I burst out laughing. I was silly with tension, and I spun around, grabbing a sapling about three inches in diameter and yanking it from the ground. I made a series of loping jumps like a javelin hurler and flung the tree, hearing it crash down a hundred yards away. "Sorry," I bellowed after it, still giggling.

Edward's voice behind me was very small, "What are you doing?"

I knelt on the dirt in front of him. "I'm showing you what I am."

He never looked away from my eyes as he asked, "What _are_ you?"

"I'm not human, Edward." _God, that felt so good! What a relief!_

I realized he was speaking, "You're. Not. Human," he said, like the words were totally foreign.

Absolutely in for a penny, in for a pound. More like a million.

"Look at your phone," I said and watched him take it out. "Do you have a signal?" His voice was thick in his throat, "Yes." I wanted him to feel as safe as he could, given what I was about to do. I cast around for a scent. Any mammal would work. "Keep your phone out. I'll be right back."

I zoomed away at top speed, knowing to him it would appear that I had vanished. I glanced behind me long enough to see him leap to his feet; he was looking at his phone, likely GPSing his position. I had to be back before he could get a reading and act on it.

About 500 yards off to the left, a coyote was gnawing a previous night's bone. I hated to do this to him, but what I had to prove to Edward overwhelmed any sense of hunting ethics I had: I hit him hard in the neck, stunning him, snatching him up, and speeding back to Edward.

As I came into view, I slowed so Edward would see me approach. His eyes bugged out as he took in the limp dog dangling from my grip. He stepped back, his forgotten phone falling to the ground. His white lips formed the words _what the fuck_ but no sound came.

I sat cross-legged on the far side of the small clearing, cradling the animal on my lap. I hadn't had anything to drink in so long. My thirst plus my elation over having Edward close to me were almost driving me insane. But I had to proceed slowly. This had to work.

I made my voice low and firm. "Sit down, Edward." I didn't want him falling over if he felt faint; he could break a fragile bone or give himself a nasty crack to the head.

He sank to the dirt, wrapping his arms around himself, in that universal gesture of comfort; he already knew to protect himself from what he was about to witness.

I laid out the coyote in front of me. I held Edward's eyes, dazzling him just enough to ease his mind. It was important he saw and understood. I spoke slowly and distinctly. "Edward, I don't eat food like you do. I drink blood from animals."

I could smell his horror and hear his pulse slow to almost nothing, a sure sign he was about to faint. _Not now,_ I groaned inwardly, but aloud I snapped "Edward!" His eyes flashed and his pulse picked up. The odor of adrenaline was thick like paint or tar.

I leaned slowly forward, the hot smell of the animal in front of me making my venom pool in my mouth. Never breaking eye contact with Edward, I lowered my head to the coyote. I sliced cleanly through the fur and skin, straight into the carotid, giving one hard pull to start the blood flowing.

The salted metallic smoke filled my mouth, while the sight of Edward—stunning in his beauty and terror—filled my eyes, my mind, my body. I had never once considered what it might be like to drink in front of a human, much less _this_ human. I had never thought it possible to be so aroused.

I couldn't take it: my eyes closed in ecstasy and I rolled backwards, bringing the animal onto my chest as I lay down. I held it in my arms like I wanted to hold Edward, suctioning out the last of its life. Some far away part of me sensed Edward's approach. He was drawn to my moans of satisfaction and arousal, despite any sense of self-preservation he felt. Such was the power of the monster, to lure what it wanted, to take what it needed, to consume what it must have. Edward was powerless against it. As was I.

As the coyote's heart banged, then fluttered its last, I opened my eyes to see Edward's, dilated to almost black, above me. His gaze was steady, unwavering, and there was something… curiosity? recklessness? …mixing with the darkness. With a sigh, I let the corpse fall away. Never breaking Edward's stare, I lazily licked my lips and ran my tongue around my teeth, relishing every last, delectable taste. My body hungered now for a newer taste, one it liked even more.

I raised my hands slowly to Edward's face. When I touched his skin, a buzz of electricity went through us both—I could spot it in his eyes, as I lifted up, looking straight into them until they were too close to see.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 22**

I was so terrified I was certain I'd hurl.

She had turned into The Incredible Hulk—minus the green skin—although maybe the red eyes played into that somehow—I might start giggling in hysteria any second now—tearing trees out of the ground.

No way was my poor sad brain processing _any_ of this shit. I was fried, under siege, and in the middle of Nowhere National Park.

And then, she disappears. Like I'd been dropped from a space ship after an anal probe that went all the way up to my brain and pithed me like a frog in high school biology. Except, wait: they don't do that cruel shit anymore. The giggles tried to erupt again. _Cruel shit_. Yeah. I could write the book on cruel shit now.

Before my _gaping asshole of a son of a cretin_ phone could load the GPS, she was back, holding a huge… a huge… _what the fuck is that thing?_

She sat down with it—was it dead? It looked dead, but it was breathing, I could see its chest lifting—and she said some language that made no sense like her words were unintelligible—but I imagined in this version of _Nightmare on Elm Street_ that my life had become I was sure to remember those words with stark clarity just as I was dropping off to sleep for the first time if I ever escaped this hell—my brain had verbal diarrhea—was this what it was like in Alice's head?—don't giggle, do. Not. Fucking. Giggle.

And then.

And then.

My fan-fucking-tabulous Bella, the woman of my dreams—the good the bad and the ugly—put her gorgeous, fuckable lips on the thing's neck and I could see her jaws press together and her throat started working and she was purring, and some place down around my groin tried to respond and her eyes closed and she rolled back and _talk about whiplash_ my cock was so hard I could have used it as a leg which was good because my other two were boneless and I reeled toward her like a fish on a line but if the fish wanted to be caught.

My brain was mush _just go with this, Cullen_ and I still thought this must be a sick dream but in a hot way and the animal slid away from her like an old fur coat in a thrift store and Bella's eyes opened to mine and _god help me: I can't help myself_ there was my smile.

I wasn't frightened. I wasn't queasy. I wasn't confused—_well, maybe still a little confused_—I just simply _was._

Whatever this unbelievable weirdness was, it had rolled back onto itself until nothing made sense but the beautiful woman below me, lifting herself slowly like a fantastically exquisite serpent to my waiting lips.

When her hands touched me, I felt a jolt. When her lips brushed mine, I felt… _home._

Whatever I was afraid of, worried about, puzzled by, fell away and the entire ball of dirt I was on kept spinning safely through space only as long as we kissed.

And oh how we kissed. Our lips had, in the weeks they'd been apart, devised a secret language to communicate with each other in code. I could no more decipher that code than I could give birth, but I didn't need to: my skin and muscles and bones translated perfectly.

Each kiss had a name on a list in a very long book, and we went down the list, turning page after page. Towards the end, we were making up ones that weren't on the list, but I'm not completely sure about that. Maybe the secret code just became invisible at that point. It didn't matter because my angel was kissing me and I liked it a lot.

Bella's hands stroked under my sweater up my chest, lighting icicle fires everywhere they touched. Frostbitten nipples. Slushy navel. Blizzard belly. And then back down. Matches struck on nipples, campfire built inside navel, inferno roared down belly, until her fingers licked fire over the zipper on my jeans, setting all of me ablaze.

I hadn't noticed her removing shoes, but why would I have? She was kissing me and I had no attention to spare. She hooked her toes in the top of my jeans and pushed them down. My freed cock bounced out like a new puppy kept inside for the whole day and she grabbed it like a handhold on the edge of a precipice; if she was going over, then so was I.

She broke off the kiss—I was sad, but we seemed to have started over again at the top of the list anyway—and slithered out from under me, dragging a line of cock juice down her stomach. She held the hem of her top up and away, and then, raising up on her knees, she held my gaze while she slipped a finger along my jism trail, then popped her finger in her mouth. She moaned around her finger and I moaned back, telling her with my eyes to come back to me.

She got an evil glint in her eyes, and she might as well have wrapped her lips around my cock from the way I reacted. I started crawling toward her, growling _motherfucking growling like a beast_ when she held up a hand in a stop gesture, which—only because she was obviously some sort of supernatural witch woman—I did. She used my hesitation to shimmy out of her own jeans, and before I could move a muscle, she spun around on hands and knees and was backing up to me. Fucking backing up, her smooth tight round ass on display, her pussy swollen and glistening, her face over her shoulder so she could watch me watch her.

Just as she got within reach, I lifted up on my knees and she bumped the head of my cock and stopped. She was still watching me. I moved my knees forward an inch, feeling my aching sensitivity press against her folds. She reached back and used her fingers to spread herself and then she shoved back hard enough to almost knock us down. I had to grab her hips and hold on for dear life, because she was bucking and pitching and gasping and moaning like the wild thing she was, and I had never _never_ had it like this and my brain screamed _keep the fuck up, you moron_ and I started thrusting and pounding and grunting like I was the animal and I leaned over and took hold of her shoulders so I could pull her back onto me with force the impact of our hips bouncing us apart and _jesus Bella you're so tight like this_ and she was calling _fuck me Edward please harder_ and my balls were slapping her clit and I stretched up to drive down on her sweet spot and she cried out my name and that did it: I came and she came and her inner muscles pulsed around me and I buried myself in her cold heat and toppled us over in the pine needles.

I came back to myself when I felt cool fingers between us, scraping like a spatula along the sides of a cake batter bowl. I lifted up on my elbow in time to see Bella bring her fingers, shiny with our come, up to her parted lips. She sucked them clean, making yummy-yummy noises, then returned for more. I couldn't hold back a chuckle, "You really like that, don't you, angel?"

She nodded, her eyes intense and locked on mine. "I want to try something," she murmured, and I barked out a laugh, saying, "What the hell, Bella: go for broke, why don't you?" After everything I'd been through tonight, it all seemed hilarious. At my inappropriate attempt at humor, that tiny adorable scowl creased the skin between her eyebrows. In a professorial tone that threatened to have me guffawing, she said, "When I pull away, you roll over on your back." I gave a mock salute, then groaned as she moved off me. As I rolled per her instructions, I saw her cup a hand between her legs, letting our combined juices leak into her palm. Her pointed pink tongue lapped it all off, while she mmm'd the entire time, and when she was finished, I was just as hard and ready for her as ever.

I don't know how I'd found a virgin vixen, but you could have knocked me over with a feather when Bella leaned down to my eager erection. She spoke to it like a microphone, "You must hold totally still and tell me what you feel."

I did guffaw then, and she gave me a sharp look. "Bella, what? If you're about to do what I think you are, and I really _really_ want you to, I don't think I can hold still _and_ talk dirty to you." She got that confused puppy look and then a smile of understanding curved her lips. She reached for her discarded jeans, saying, "My, Edward, how quickly you forget." As I watched, fascinated, she placed the denim between her teeth, curling her lip back so I could see; she sliced neatly through two layers and the welted seam, then held up the cut to my startled face. It was as perfect as if she'd used scissors. Or garden shears. Or a jigsaw. I gulped, "I'll hold still."

It was her turn to laugh, and she ruffled my hair before bending back down to me.

Bella's cool tongue flattened along the side of my attentive erection, sweeping from base to tip. In it's path a prickly itchy almost not quite burning stinging heat that had me gasping. Bella rose up to see my face. "Tell me," she reminded.

"It's…_ah, goddammit_… tingly and hot… no, cold? Please, Bella, do it again."

So she did. She licked up the other side with a broad stroke of her tongue that had me rearing off the ground with a cry. Fortunately for me and my crazed disobedient dick, she flew back with that wild invisible speed. She shook her head, scolding me with a glare, and I was sure I looked chastened and horny and scrambled all at once. "Please, angel, more," I was panting.

Bella pressed the flat of her hand on my abdomen, with her thumb around my base along my pubic bone, and when she pressed down, it was obvious I wasn't going anywhere. She cleaned me off with long, burning strokes, and by the time she was finished, we were both moaning and I was in pain. "Bella _oh my god_ I want you so much right now and I hurt and _fuck_ you are so beautiful licking my cock and _yow_ I am burning alive here!"

And that was when she straddled me and lowered herself down on me in one fluid motion. We both gasped as I filled her coolness and in a night of incredible feelings, I had never felt anything so good. She was tight and wet and her chill quenched the burn and left me turned on and hard as granite. She started rocking her hips on me, but I grasped them with my hands and stilled her. I looked up into her beautiful face, animated with desire and yet warmly tender, and I said, "Tell me about that. What was going on down there?" To emphasize what I meant, I pushed up into her. She snagged her lip in her teeth—I briefly wondered how she did that without slicing it off—then said, "Venom."

I burst out laughing so hard I was jouncing her up and down. Even with her breasts jiggling delightfully, I couldn't stop. Leave it to me to find the most beautiful, desirable woman on the planet, and she ate animals—and I'm not talking filet mignon here—and sliced fabric with her teeth, and flamed me into submission with her sweet, sweet venom.

* * *

Author's PSA: you may have noticed—and good for you if you did—that I don't write Edward and Bella using condoms. This is a work of fiction (big duh) and writing in the condoms messes with my flow. Plus Bella is hooked on jizz. But ya'll know what to do in real life. And while I'm being all responsible and shit, in real life, every hetero gal must have at least these two things in her arsenal: pushing off his pants with her toes, and rolling on a condom with her mouth. Practice on a cucumber until you're perfect.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 23**

"Erm. Venom."

"Yes," she rocked her hips again for emphasis. "I am the perfect predator. I have immense speed and brutal strength…" she squeezed me gaspingly hard with her inside muscles, "…and I can dazzle my prey into losing its fear..." and she gazed deep into my eyes and I felt better than stoned, "…and _god Edward I love the way you fill me up_ I'll explain the rest later…"

She leaned forward, putting her hands on the ground above my shoulders, lifting up on her knees until my tip was barely inside her. Suspended above me like some sort of erotic coffee table, she growled, "Move."

Pushing my heels on the ground, I thrust up into her and she tossed back her head, flinging her hair over my face with enough force to sting and that did it: I was pumping her like an oil well drawing liquid gold my hips finding the perfect roll and she was moaning filthy things _good god where did she get that mouth?_ and bowed her spine until I was scraping along her clit and her fingers dug into the dirt beside my head and my hands came up to cup then press her pretty breasts her nipples hard against my palms and I wanted to suckle them but I couldn't keep the beat if I did and my lips were forlorn but my balls were charging up to the finish line and I made a silent promise to those swollen peaks that they'd have my undivided attention soon and the elemental force of the planet blew through me and I was blind and deaf and dumb but I could tell Bella wasn't because she was motherfucking _howling_ my name and if I wasn't already empty I'd have come again at the sound.

I made a few last strokes to bring us both down; Bella moved to lift off and knowing what she was about to do, I stilled her with my hands on her hips. "Angel, you can't. I'm too sensitive right now." She pouted her luscious lips at me, but relented, dropping down to rest lightly on my chest. "I promise I'll make more for you," I murmured and felt her smile against my skin. She jabbed me in the ribs, exclaiming, "I'll hold you to that, Mr. Cullen," and I threw my arms around her, replying, "I think I'm doing the holding, Ms. Swan." She chuckled and wove her fingers in my hair. We lay depleted and contented, and I wondered at never having had sex outdoors before, reminded by the leaves mashed on my butt. I listened to the night sounds unlike anything I heard through city windows. Into those cracklings and rustlings came my angel's soft voice: she was humming a slow waltz.

I whispered into her chestnut waterfall of hair, "That's pretty. I don't recognize it."

She poked me again, harder and I jumped with a "hey!" and she pushed up to give me a splendid smile, her chocolate cherry eyes dancing with mirth, "Well, you _should;_ you wrote it."

My jaw dropped open at that, and her smile broadened into a delighted grin. She nodded vigorously, then playing air piano above me, she sang a few notes of "Waiting" followed with the snatch of waltz.

"What the..?"

"I tried to stay away from you. After…" she shrugged self-consciously, "…I frightened you. I knew you couldn't understand and you would be afraid and grow to hate me.

But I couldn't stay away. I had to make sure you were safe. So I would sit in the tree across the street and listen to you play.

It was your music that brought me back to you." She ran her fingers around my navel, making me shiver. She smiled, "Edward, why do you compose?"

I blew out a breath, "God, Bella, you might as well ask why I breathe. It would be easier to say why I want you." And there was _my _smile; _jesus that gave me a thrill._

"Life is so ridiculously gorgeous. Horrific. Heartbreaking. Insane." I looked at her, holding her eyes. "I'm compelled to describe it to myself. But I can't. I cannot do it. So I compose."

She returned my gaze for a long moment. Then she placed a hand behind my neck, pulling herself down for a kiss. I whispered into her mouth: "So, this venom? It's sort of sweet?"

She nodded. "Most of my kind…" I had to interrupt at that, "There are more of you?" She laughed and tugged the hair on my tummy, "Of course, silly! Not many, but yes, there are more. We like sweet things. Sugar. Honey." I got all wiggly at the thought of her licking honey off me. "The raspberry tea! "I remembered.

"That was more about its aroma."

"How so?"

"Remember I told you about your smell?"

"A-ya, I thought I needed a bath."

That earned me another smack before she said, "Well, you smell so wonderful that at first I thought I might bite you. The tea distracted me and masked some of your smell so that I could concentrate. I wanted to listen to you talk."

I felt amazed she would go to all these lengths for me, to spend time with me. The realization of my ordinariness was beginning to sink in big time.

"Yeah, and I blasted your book idea."

"But that was good! Don't you see? I'm too alone with my ideas; I needed that other viewpoint." Her bare breasts pressed to the scratchy wool of my sweater—I'd never managed to remove it—she got suddenly shy. "Would you read it sometime and tell me what you think?"

"Bella, I would be honored, " I said sincerely. I pushed at her a little, wondering if the wool was rough on her skin. "Is my sweater itchy to you?"

It was a night for countless smiles and I got another one as she said, "My skin is very sensitive to all sensations, but I'm not easily scratched." She plucked at my sleeve, "I was sorry I got rid of this. It was all I had to remind me of you, but I didn't think I deserved to be reminded that I had found my singer." She sounded so sad.

"Your singer?"

"Mm. For some of my kind—the lucky ones—there are singers. Someone whose blood sings directly to the other. It is powerful. Overwhelming. Rarely, someone's blood will call us so strongly we can't resist, and we wind up killing them." I flinched at that idea. She pressed my chest with her hand, to calm me. "I am unusual for my kind, that I drink from animals. Most still kill humans."

A twinge of my earlier shock returned as I gasped out, "Bella, you're a vam..!" when her fingers flew to my lips to shush me. She sat back and looked at me, studying my horrified expression for fully seven seconds. "I am a monster, Edward, yes."

My voice shook, "Does Charles know?"

"Know? Know what?"

"What you are?"

Expressions flitted across her perfect features: annoyance, playfulness, appraisal. She lifted her hair up, heaping it on her head in a messy pile and holding it there; she leaned one shoulder toward me, showing me the white scar I was puzzled by. "Charles made me what I am."

The bizarre nature of this exchange came crashing down on me, and I really required pants. I rolled Bella to my side, not wanting her to feel rejected, but needing space. I crossed the clearing in three big strides and yanked on my jeans. I hopped around off balance to tug on my boots. I shoved my socks in my pocket, and picked up my abandoned phone. I saw with a shock that we weren't going to make the three-hour window I'd given Jazz.

"Bella, we have to go." She gave me a look of dejected understanding. She pulled on her jeans—her bite mark opening a hole over one knee—and sat to put on socks and shoes. I offered a hand to help her up—she obviously didn't need it, but I was a gentleman to the core, and I didn't want her to think all politeness had flown out the window with my sanity. Etiquette and consideration was all that separated humanity from our crocodile brains. Who was I to judge Bella and whatever the hell she was? People had brutally, thoughtlessly, greedily murdered each other in staggering numbers for momentary gains. For stupid stuff. Diamonds. Religion. Money. The misguided right to call certain places "ours." Sitting in the middle of this incredible gift of wilderness and purity, I couldn't summon the gumption to judge Bella. Whatever understanding I came to have about her would be a gift, not a burden.

As I pulled Bella to her feet and met her wary eyes, I said with as much conviction as I could muster, "I only hope I have enough time to learn about you and show you my acceptance."

Her eyes glistened like she was about to cry. She went up on her toes, pressing her soft lips to mine. When she dropped on her heels, I rubbed my thumb along her jaw and asked, "Can you cry?"

One delicate eyebrow arched. "You can't get tears from a stone," she said, but she sounded more annoyed than wistful.

Taking one last look around the clearing where my life had changed forever, I threw my arms around her shoulders so she could run us back.

* * *

Author's note: Thus far throughout W2bW, I've been sticking to an alternating POV—human, vampire, human, vampire—but Edward has been so freaked out that he had more to say: who am I to deny Edward anything? Bella will return next chapter.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 24**

I had promised Edward I'd have him home in three hours. We were not going to make it, but neither of us seemed to mind. He'd called his friend Jasper to say he was on the way and I felt all girly and wiggly when he said into the phone, "Yes, everything is better than okay—it's spectacular," and I reached to stroke his muscled thigh. This was all new for me, this feeling like a girl. I needed to find a way to be okay with it, because it was happening whether or not I liked it.

It was more than just the fact that Edward had a penis and I had a place for him to put it—although that was all pretty damned magnificent—but that his entire body made the most luscious stuff. His smell. His sweat. His come. His blood, of course, but its appeal was becoming more about his pulse and heartbeat than about drinking him down.

I looked over at him. He was leaning against the door, his eyes closed and his enticing bottom lip drooping; he was exhausted. I could tell when we'd gotten in the truck that he had so many questions—I could almost hear his mind hamster-wheeling at top speed. I'd have to make sure we had lots of private time for him to ask whatever he needed to ask me. But for now, getting back into a routine was likely best for both of us. I'd missed several weeks of class and had a lot of catching up to do—no problem for me really.

And then there was the whole issue of Charles. How was I going to explain all this to him, one more time? We crossed the Tacoma Narrows and as the miles clicked by, I thought over my justifications for my actions and how I would defend them to Charles. I could feel my anger rising at the idea that I still had to defend anything to him. I was older than his wife, yet he never questioned anything Renee wanted to do. Of course, Renee embraced her time with Charles and had found rewarding ways to fill her eternal life with activity and success. Would those things always elude me?

While all _that_ was irritating, I was looking forward to speaking with Tanya; I felt like I was on equal footing with her, finally, and I wanted to swap stories. I didn't want to disrespect Edward, though—would he think my talking with Tanya about him was wrong? Again, my frustration with justifying my actions to men rose up in me. I sighed heavily, knowing I had a lot more I needed to understand before I could truly trust in a relationship of any kind with Edward. At least for now, he was safe. He seemed, of not entirely comfortable, then reassured. And most important, he was here, with me.

As we drove through Seattle, a blaring horn woke Edward. He rubbed his eyes, and stretched. He looked out the window to get his bearings, then turned to me. He ran a warm finger down my cheek and gave me a sleepy smile. It made me go all gooey inside. I wasn't a gooey sort of girl. _Something else to think about._

Edward pulled out his phone and called his friend. His voice, still husky from sleep, made me shiver delightfully. "Sorry to keep you up, but I'm almost there." He leaned over and rubbed his head on my shoulder, blanketing me in his salty, wooly, yeasty scent. I turned my face into his hair and inhaled. A wave of arousal washed over me. "God Edward, you smell like heaven." He yawned into my neck and even his breath was cat-like, moist and grassy.

I pulled up under the tree where I'd spent nights watching over him. I'd likely do that again tonight, just because it made me feel good to know he was protected. I saw Edward's handsome friend and a petite woman standing in the front windows. They moved to the door when they saw him getting out. I had already decided not to walk with him, letting his friends reassure themselves I was no danger to their loved one.

To my surprise and delight, he came around to my open window. He reached a warm hand to my neck, guiding me to his waiting mouth. He covered my lips with small sucking nibbles that had me gasping. He smiled against my mouth and murmured, "Soon," before turning to walk across the street. He must have known I was watching him, because there was a slight, but definitely extra, swing to his musical hips, and sure enough, when he reached the porch, he turned to look back at me. His eyes were shimmering in the streetlights, ocean bottom green, and I put my hand on the door release to fly to him—but the front door opened, haloing his lean frame, making his hair glow copper, and he stepped inside and shut the door, plunging the porch in darkness.

I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, taking calming breaths, just to enjoy the peace of the moment. I had so many things I wanted to write down, and I wanted to see if my bank card worked—I'd need a new phone right away—and I'd have to get my books from Charles—if he'd found Edward's sweater, then he'd also gathered up my texts—and I wanted to check in with my professors about make up work. But for right now, I just wanted to be motionless, quiet, and drift in the memories of Edward, half naked and all mine under the trees.

It was restful just to sit, playing back the feel of Edward's smooth warm skin under my hands, his hot hardness buried in me, my fingers tangled in his impossible hair. I was considering slipping a hand in my jeans, certain from the distance of any noises around me that I was alone, when I caught a movement in Edward's room.

I sat forward and watched as he pushed open the French doors and walked straight to the windows. He lifted both hands and flattened his palms against the glass and I was out of the truck and across the street before I even knew I'd moved. His grin lit up the night as he opened a window and leaned out. "I hoped you were still here."

"I will be here for as long as you want me."

He put out a hand toward me, grinning even more. "Oh, I'll always want you."

That was all the invitation I needed. "Stand back," I told him and sprung through the window in a neat vault, landing softly on the hardwood. Edward chuckled at my prowess and it thrilled me to be able to share it with him. But I had little time to think about that pleasure before I was swept up in another: his arms, his hungry kisses, his hands diving under my shirt, then sinking into my hair.

His mouth was a warm, wet demand. So perfect were Edward's kisses, I couldn't imagine what anyone else's might be like—nor did I need to: he knew all the kisses. He should teach doctoral level kissing. I didn't want to know who taught him to kiss like that, but I wanted to thank her all the same. And then snap my fingers in her face because she was never having him again.

How could one pair of lips—albeit matchless ones—deliver so many sensations? There were the barely-there brushes like big fat snowflakes on the first exhilarating day of winter; there were the explorations of nibbling grasping lips and probing flexible tongue; the dry ones, chaste and innocent; there were the soulful ones of barely suppressed desire; the urgent ones of crazed need; the alarming ones with digging fingers and heaving ribs; there were the bruising ones full of jaw bone and teeth crack; there were the sloppy deep ones conveyed by not just his lips and tongue, but by his entire body; melting candle wax warm puddle ones; famished cheetah fast and glittering glacier slow; fevered slippery heat with fragrant breath and whispered nonsense; grunting, pulsing, rhythmic stabs; battles of bites and suction; mouth hair arms hands cock hips legs toes Edward: I wanted desperately to suck his tongue in my mouth, but it would be too easy to cut him on my teeth, and I didn't know what even a small amount of venom in his blood stream might do to him.

I didn't think I could stop, but Edward was panting; I leaned back, looking at him. "You need sleep—you look exhausted."

"I am. But I won't be able to sleep tonight."

"I'll stay and watch over you." He pulled me back and spoke against my lips, "It's _you_ that's keeping me awake." At that, I pushed him back, cocking an eyebrow, "Then I'll go."

"No. Bella, no," his eyes were smoldering. "Here or not, asleep or awake, it's _you,_ Bella. Don't you see?"

I didn't want to; was he saying I meant something to him? Could I dare hope that after all I'd put him through, he might feel a little bit toward me as I did for him? If I thought about that now, I'd go mad. So I kissed him some more.

He sang his need into my mouth and I responded in perfect harmony. Our hands found skin, warm to cool, trails of lava and ice. Edward stepped back just enough to pull my shirt up and off. His eyes roamed ardently over my skin and his fingertips followed. They lingered on the underside of my breasts, making me twist and arch. They brushed over my ready nipples and traced every rib.

"Edward," I whimpered, "I need…"

"What do you need, my angel?" His voice was dark velvet. "This?" He palmed my breasts, lifting and pressing.

"Yes, but…"

"This?" He swept one arm behind my waist, bending me back and leaning down to heat my nipples with his mouth.

"Oh, yes! But…"

"This?"

He slid his other hand down over my jeans, cupping between my legs and pressing up hard and deep with his fingers.

"_Gaaaah! Yes!_ More, Edward…"

I scrabbled at the zipper of his jeans, wrenching it down and releasing him to my eager touch. He growled and my eyes darted to his—was he still sensitive from the venom?—but his face showed only pure longing. I stroked him, testing how hard I could grasp; when he hissed, I backed off the pressure just enough, delighted when he rocked in my hand. His own snaked inside my jeans, wriggling down and around, his long avid fingers curling against the bone to find purchase just inside me.

"_Fuck,_ Bella, it makes me so fucking hard that you are this wet for me," Edward panted against my collarbone, and started walking us backwards around his couch until we fell on his mattress in a hard tangle of gripping and grinding.

He traced his tongue tip down my belly, stopping to suck against my navel until I was quaking, undoing my jeans and working them down to my knees where I could kick my feet and shed them completely. He hiked my knee over his shoulder, settling between my legs and I was moaning before he even touched me. He didn't move for enough seconds that I raised my head; he sensed my prompting look and spoke quietly, almost reverently, "God Bella, this is for me?"

I snagged my fingers in the thicket of his hair and he needed no further urging. Every kiss he had bestowed on my mouth, he repeated between my legs until I was blind with lust, teetering while he held me on the edge, and he was moaning his need with me, and I blurted _you better not fucking come in your sheets this time,_ and he was licking and laughing and lapping and nipping, and I was shaking and bucking, and from the top of my head and the soles of my feet, two waves broke loose, rippled and surged toward each other, until I crashed over Edward's face, pulsing and laughing and gasping, and before I could slow down he was over me and in me, pushing and driving, and the waves rolled out curling and slammed back across us both, and we ate each other's ecstatic cries, swallowing moans, puffing kisses, giddy babbling, whispering down to stillness, quiet, calm.

He rolled off to face me, propping his head on his bunched bicep. The skin around his eyes was dark with fatigue and residual shock, but his eyes sparkled green and gold. His lashes were long and thick; women paid a lot of money trying to achieve what was naturally his. I brushed the leaping flames of his hair back from his face, and scratched my fingernails lightly through his jaw stubble. He sighed, but continued to study my face. I could sense his gaze on my eyes, my lips, my hair, my neck, as if he were touching me. I looked in his eyes, wondering what he was seeing. He surprised me when he said, "You are really beautiful, you know."

If I could have blushed, I would have. I shook my head in denial. Edward captured my chin between his thumb and fingertips, holding my eyes with his, "Bella, you are lovely." His voice grew husky and molten, "I can't believe you're here with me."

"Why?" I was genuinely puzzled he would say that.

"Because you are extraordinary. I can't match you in anything you do." He gave me a rueful smile, "When I think about you running with me…"

It was my turn to hold his eyes, "I _loved_ running with you, Edward. I suggested it, remember? I'd love to run with you as often as you'd let me."

"Really?" his voice rose up like an excited child. I nodded, feeling suddenly shy.

"Edward…" I hesitated to ask this question, but I had to know, "…what did you tell your friend… about me?"

There was a sweet softness to his eyes and mouth when he said, " Angel, I don't even know what you are—how could I tell anyone else?"

Suddenly my recklessness got the better of me and I held his face in my hands, meeting his eyes with unwavering conviction. "There is so much to explain. You're knowing about me puts you in danger. It puts me in danger… and Charles and Renee." Edward was too tired and relaxed to be alarmed, but I saw in his expression that he took me seriously.

"Who from?" he asked, but then immediately yawned, a gigantic dog-like stretch of the jaws and throat that made me smile. I drew him into my arms, cradling his head on my shoulder and smoothing his hair. "Shhh," I whispered. "Sleep now. Answers later."

"Promise?" he muttered drowsily, his eyes closing.

"That you'll get answers?"

"That you'll be here later."

"Yes, my darling love," I said, but he was already asleep.

* * *

Author's note: shout out to awesome review-johns vmarie, WolvGambit, and ehee; Edward wanted to know if you gals like the way he kisses?


	26. Chapter 26

Author's note: I know this is short, but I thought I'd give it to you while I battle with Bella over what is coming up next. She just wants oodles of lemons with Edward—who doesn't?—and I fully support that, but I also have a story to advance, and she is not being remotely helpful.

Here's what I've been listening to while writing this chapter: The Lost Fingers: _Touch Me;_ Marianne Faithful: _The Pleasure Song;_ This Mortal Coil: _Song To The Siren;_ Alela Diane: _My Brambles;_ The Swell Season: _Falling Slowly;_ Gemma Hayes: _Easy On The Eye._

* * *

**Chapter 25**

We developed little rituals, like most lovers do, I suppose. She became pushy about tasting all sorts of things: she would see something or smell something and demand I taste it, then she would kiss me, swirling her tongue in my mouth and smacking her lips over something she liked or making scrunchy faces over things she hated. Bubblegum was "ambrosia" and she took to buying me packs to chew for her; lettuce and spinach were dismissed as "food for the food." It was hard to explain to her that I didn't want raspberry or lemon syrup in my coffee, but we both really liked vanilla.

She thought the questions I invented about her nature were at turns annoying, adorable, and odd:

"If I got old and really fat, could you still carry me?"

"You _will_ get old and you will _not_ get fat."

"If I was drunk, and you drank from me, would you get drunk too?"

"If I drank from you, you'd be too dead to notice how drunk I was."

"Could you change me to be like you?"

"No."

I wanted to know everything about Bella, and it irritated me that the world kept making demands on my time, when I just wanted to spend it all with her. She tried repeatedly to explain the concept of my being her singer—which of course, being a music reference, intrigued me—but it was obviously something more easily felt than defined.

"What's it like, finding your singer?" This topic was a sure way to have her touch me, and she reached for me now, taking my hand as we walked across the campus.

"It's amazing—_you're_ amazing. I never thought it would happen to me."

"What does it feel like?"

"You know I love words. But I'm not sure there are any for this."

"Cop out," I was half teasing.

Bella got that crease between her brows that I liked so much; it made her look both innocent and fierce. _How's that for confusing?_

"Do you know anything about sirens?" she asked.

"You mean like Homer and shit?"

"_Edward!"_ she made as if to smack me—I had discovered she disliked references to human elimination processes. It was weird, because she'd scream _Fuck me Edward!_ when we were in bed together—and loved it when I did similar—but _piss_ and _shit_ and even _crap_ bothered her. I mean, she had done all that at some point in her life, and she was completely considerate of my needs in that area. And it didn't seem to bother her when I was eating. That made me think about watching her drink, and how absurdly hot it was, even though it scared the… _urine_ out of me. I really wanted to see her do that again.

I came back to myself with Bella saying, "They were prophets, with the bodies of birds and the heads of beautiful women. They were the daughters of the River Achelous and Terpsichore, the muse of dancing. They had names like Bright Voice and Glorious Face. They lured mariners, but were not actually sea deities.

"Do you know Jane Ellen Harrison?" I shook my head; Bella continued, "Well, she was one of my teachers briefly in England at the end of the 1800s—a remarkable woman, very much a proponent of the early feminist movement—and she was one of the founders of the modern study of Greek mythology.

"Anyway, she talked about the sirens in their meadows, starred with flowers, and found it strange and beautiful that Homer made the sirens appeal to the spirit, rather than the flesh. For Homer, if a mariner could listen to a siren's song to his heart's content without succumbing to her, he would sail on, a wiser man. Homer said of sailors, _'If he knows the pains the Trojans once endured on the spreading plain of Troy when the gods willed it so, all that comes to pass on the fertile earth, we know it all.'"_

I marveled at all that she knew and all that she had seen, and felt a twinge of jealousy. I shook my head again and said, "That's pretty cool, but are you saying I'm your siren? I don't quite see the connection."

Bella stopped, tugging my hand to pull me around and into her. She smiled up at me, "It's exactly the same, Edward. If I can follow the call of your blood and body singing to me, and not be lured to crash on the rocks—so to speak—then I may endure pain, but I will also be wiser and know all."

"I still don't get it," I made a sheepish face. "Rocks?"

"Well, not real rocks. But befriending and forming a relationship with a human is dangerous for my kind. And it's certainly been painful for me."

"Oh Bella," I looked deep into her eyes, wanting her to know I was sorry for her pain; we hadn't really talked about her feeling like she had to run away from me, but I hated to be the cause of any of her unhappiness.

She rose up and brushed her lips across mine. "It's okay. Knowing you does make me wiser." She sighed, "I guess what I'm trying to say is that our relationship has obstacles, but if we can navigate around them, we'll be fine. And because you're my singer, I don't really have a choice."

"So the sailor, if he survives the surf on the rocks, gains the key to knowledge?" She nodded. "Freedom?" She smiled. "Happiness? She grinned. "Music?" I crowed and she shouted, "Yes!" at the same time and I scooped her up and spun her around until I was dizzy and she was giddy, and we plopped on the grass out of breath.

When I could speak, I declared, "I like it!"

Bella simply grinned.

I was feeling pretty cool that she and I shared our complicated ties through music. I wasn't certain I understood all the implications of being Bella's singer, but it was fuck-all exciting that my blood quite literally sang to her. Now _that_ would make a phenomenal composition.

Within days of reuniting with Bella, "Waiting" was finished enough to submit to my composition professor; he thought, with a bit of polishing, it would be a top contender for the Carpenter Prize in composing. I now had just weeks to get it fully demoed and sent to the review committee. It was eerie and wonderful that Bella had given me the tiny snatch of waltz that I built the ending around—she claims she heard me play it one night as she sat in the tree keeping watch, but I don't recall it—certainly not like she hummed it for me. I love all forms of music, but I don't naturally gravitate to waltzes, even by favorite masters like Debussy and Chopin; Brahms didn't even consider them in his "serious" works. But it was the ending I had sought, the one that eluded me. And she found it for me. If I was her singer, she must be my muse.

While I spent time in the sound studio on campus, adding instruments to "Waiting" to give it an orchestral feel, Bella brought her journal and worked on her book ideas; she hadn't shared it with me any further, but frankly, we were spending all our free time together in bed. Or on the couch. Or on the kitchen table. Or on the floor. Or in the shower.

_Oh my fucking god,_ in the shower. It was rapidly becoming my favorite place to have sex.

Bella had explained to me that, with no blood or heartbeat, her body was the ambient temperature, or even a little cooler. "Cold-blooded?" I guessed. "Like snakes?" She furrowed her brow—which always made me want to kiss her—and said in a low, thoughtful voice, "No, actually more like trees."

I was totally surprised by that idea. But then again, everything about my angel was surprising, and I'd felt that from the first time I saw her.

"Believe me, Edward, I don't understand it myself, and I've spent decades _living_ it. But think about it: trees are alive, very strong, live a very long time, have sap instead of blood, no heartbeat, make fuel for themselves by leeching moisture, tough skin, reproduce on a cellular level rather than through courtship behaviors, live among humans virtually unnoticed…"

"Yeah," I mused, "and they can run so fucking fast…"

Bella stared at me for half a second before busting out in a glorious full-throated laugh. _God,_ that was a sound only angels make.

"Bella," I started, wanted to share an idea I'd been nursing, "what if you _are_ an angel?"

She gave me an indulgent smile, "An angel? Really, Edward, that is very sweet, but you don't believe in angels, now do you?"

"Well, it's at least as easy to accept as whatever it is you are," I retorted, pouting out my lower lip.

She kissed my pout and said, "Monster."

I kissed her back, "Angel."

She kissed me again, _"Monster."_

"_Angel!"_

"_MONSTER!"_

"Okay, uncle," I laughed. "You win—you're a motherfucking tree!"

She pulled me to her hard, grappling with my lips and tongue, panting into my mouth with laughter and arousal. All this kissing just reminded me of being naked with Bella. And the shower. The last time we'd showered, I'd found out more about her scars. And her venom.

The hot water—almost hotter than my skin could tolerate—made her own flesh warm; since I had only ever known her cool, it was enchanting to feel her fingertips glide warm and soft over my skin. I loved how she could be so different. There seemed to be no end to the discoveries I could make about her, and yet again, I was struck by how insignificant I was. Plain. Nothing out of the ordinary, but it seemed, as she said, I was born to be with her.

"And you, Bella? How were _you_ born?" I was washing her back with handfuls of thick lather, working my fingers into her muscles, enjoying her little gasps when I would reach lower to massage her gently curving hips and perfect ass. She shrugged her broad shoulders, "The usual way. A mother. A father."

I grasped her supple waist and gently spun her to face me. I swept her hair behind her and soaped my hands again. "But you said Charles made you what you are." I put my soapy hands on top of her shoulders, slipping them up the slope of her neck and back. She took one of my hands, holding it over the scar on her neck, looking into my eyes. "Our venom is useful when we hunt, but hardly necessary. It is primarily used for reproduction."

I'm sure my eyebrows disappeared into my hairline, even as my jawed dropped open. I brushed away the lather and traced the white crescent with a fingertip. I heard the amazement in my voice when I said, "So this _is_ a bite mark."

Bella looked taken aback and her eyes darkened noticeably, "What?"

"Something Jasper said."

"Jasper?" Her look was so intent, her eyes were making holes in me.

"When you ran away"—I hated the discomfort in her expression—"I was pretty confused. Especially when I discovered you'd bitten a hole in my sheet." She looked a little shamefaced, then surprised, as I said, "When I showed it to Jasper, he said no one could do that with their teeth. But I told him I'd seen you do it.

I also told him about your scars."

Bella looked bothered by my admission. I stammered, "Bella, I didn't know what I'd seen—I didn't understand. I thought I was going insane. I had to talk to someone. Jasper is my best friend."

Her face softened and she stroked my cheek soothingly. "So Jasper thought my scars were from bites."

"Yes. Which I thought was crazy…"

She almost looked impish. Her chin was up in that gesture of defiance or pride, so I leaned down to kiss her, lingering over the toffee taste of her lips. "And now?"

"Now, I think we're going to lose all our hot water and I haven't gotten but half of you clean."


	27. Chapter 27

Author's note: I apologize that this chapter has taken so long to get to you; if you've read my profile lately, you know that life dealt me a crushing blow recently, and I am not feeling the creative spark right now. I fully intend to finish W2bW, but I may be updating irregularly; I love you all, and I appreciate your readership more than I can express.

* * *

**Chapter 26**

To say I hadn't expected it to go well was an understatement worthy of an award.

But there was no award for how truly awful it was.

Hmm. Perhaps the "Flying Fickle Finger of Fate."

I had gone to the house to retrieve my books; when I'd called Charles—testing the waters before going to see him—he was relieved that I seemed to be "settling back in."

I hadn't been to the house in weeks, and I had to chuckle as I went inside: Renee had decorated the family areas in a Thanksgiving theme.

"What?" she cocked an eyebrow at me.

I motioned around me, smiling broadly, "Well, it _is_ a human holiday that celebrates surviving thin times by feasting. On…" I looked around for reminders, "Pumpkins. Turkeys." I shuddered; birds have very little blood and taste foul.

"Oh Bella," Renee gave me an indulgent smile—I hated when she acted like she was older than me—and hugged me, saying, "Your things are in the library." As I went that way to gather up my books, she moved toward the stairs and said, "Charlie, Bella's here." Even though he didn't raise his voice, we heard him respond that he was coming, right before he zipped down the stairs.

Edward had remarked that Charles was a handsome man. I looked him over with fresh eyes: he was a bit taller than me, with thick dark hair left long on top and a perfectly groomed mustache. He was trim but muscular, neither stocky nor lanky, but squarely built. In his soft turtleneck sweater and pleated wool pants, he radiated power and certainty. He swept me into a firm hug and I buried my face in the crook of his neck, pressing in and inhaling his woodsy scent.

As usual, he pushed me a bit and stepped back, looking me over. Charles didn't like me nuzzling his scars; he was self-conscious about them—the rogue who had turned him left his neck and shoulder a mess, and the tracery of bites and tears hadn't completely healed during his change, leaving a web of bright white tissue where his neck and shoulder joined. He always wore collars, and most often I saw him in shirts and ties, even at home. He was perfectly comfortable relaxing in business clothes, even though as a human he had worn buckskins and woolies.

I had embraced contemporary clothing, loving jeans and sweaters and boots—clothes I could move in, sprawl in, hunt in. The only time I saw Charles in casual clothes was when he and I hunted alone.

"How are you, daughter?" Charles probed me with his gaze.

"Better," I said with a jut of my chin, "Spending time with Edward." But then, he knew that. Still, his eyes were intense, the eyes of a sleuth, for whom even complex emotions and actions were a series of puzzle pieces that yielded all answers to his unrelenting scrutiny. He was waiting for me to confront him about his visit to Edward, to challenge his judgment in going to a human for help. After all, hadn't he taught me to hold apart, stay aloof, blend in?

As Charles studied me, Renee was making happy sounds, and I half expected her to start clapping. Charles was reserved, the very edges of his lips curving into a smile, while his eyes remained watchful.

"I'd like to meet him," Renee said, her voice breathy with delight. "Charlie had that pleasure, and now it's my turn. When can you bring him over?"

I arched a skeptical eyebrow at her. I had attended many social functions in this house: with Charles' clients, coworkers, the police commissioner, lawmakers, dignitaries. Renee was a master at using adroit lighting, artful decoration, and the general whirl of cocktail parties and large sit-down dinners to pamper humans into obliviousness. They were so gullible, seeing our strangeness, but wanting to believe in Charles' masculinity and prowess, Renee's delicate beauty, the sumptuous fabrics and sparking appointments. Candlelight made our skin appear warmer, and a cool handshake could always be blamed on opening more bottles of champagne. No one dared comment on Renee's pallor when her ears sparkled with enough diamonds to make the women green and the men insecure. No one thought twice about Charles' odd stillness: he had just closed a ridiculously difficult case and must be exhausted.

"What?" Renee asked, still smiling.

"I don't think any tricks with candles will fool Edward," I shrugged.

"Oh Bella," Renee chided. "A few glasses of wine, a delicious meal, asking him lots of questions, maybe a little dazzling," she said coyly.

Her girlish obtuseness, and Charles' heavy stare, was getting up under my fingernails. I shook my head and stated flatly, "He'll love it, Renee"—her eyes grew bright and her smile widened—"but he won't be fooled."

Charles spoke softly, "What do you mean, _fooled?"_

_In for a penny, in for a pound._ I sighed and looked Charles right in the eye, "I took Edward hunting with me."

There was a second of total silence, and into it, Renee made a tiny nervous giggle. "But that's… that's _impossible."_

"Nope," I said, popping the "P."

Charles narrowed his eyes, expecting a joke. So I delivered the punch line: "I ran him out to Staircase on my back, drained a coyote in front of him, and then fucked him senseless on the forest floor."

I was the only one who laughed. "Guess you had to be there," I said, hitching a shoulder.

I could almost see the anger radiating off Charles as the full import of my words sunk in. It had been drummed into me for decades: we never willingly revealed ourselves to humans. Humans unfortunate enough to learn what we were got killed. And we had to do the killing ourselves. Since our vegetarian lifestyle—as Charles branded it—prohibited harming humans, being forced to kill them was avoided at all costs. To protect our kind—and because they thought our ways rebellious and laughable—the Volturi would order it done, and the punishment could not be more devastating to us; it could erase any progress we had made toward disdaining human blood and unmask out monstrous natures. And refusal would bring our own deaths, immediate, swift, final.

Charles did not need to say any of this to me. Instead, he asked "Why?"

"I'm in love."

Now it was Charles' turn to use what was rapidly becoming the word of the night: "Impossible!"

I barked a short, sharp laugh of bitterness. "How can you doubt me? _You_ thought he was my singer."

"That was really more Tanya's thinking." As he had always done, Charles moved right past my feelings, my desires, my needs. "Let's think about this," he said.

I stared at him, feeling my irritation mount. "Did you not hear me?" I snapped. "I love Edward. He knows what I am. There is _nothing_ to think about."

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose, something he only did when his emotions were eroding his control. "Let's sit. Renee," he motioned his wife toward a couch, and she instantly took a seat. Sitting next to her, and putting a hand on her knee, he motioned me toward a chair, "We'll be rational and discuss this situation."

I was arrested by the sight of his hand on her knee. Just months ago, I would barely have noticed the gesture, much less understood it; Charles was grounding himself by touching his mate. That touch reassured him and kept him centered. I understood that touch now, because I had Edward. His scent, his voice, his touching me, his skin under my fingertips, his kisses, his taste, the rhythm of his heart, the heat of his body—all these things anchored me, completed me, filled gaps in me that I did not even know were there until Edward bridged them.

As I stared at Charles' hand stroking Renee's knee, air I didn't need began whistling through my teeth. My lungs heaved unbidden as the realization hit me, and my fury boiled. Charles had possessed for decades what I had only just found and he wanted to be rational? _Discuss it?_

"No," I said to the room.

"Sit," Charles commanded.

I looked him right in the eye, "There is nothing to discuss, Charles."

"Isabella," Charles said and my heaving chest froze. I could count the number of times he had called me by my full name; it was so rare as to be remarkable. I knew then we were headed to a black, unpleasant place. "As you know, I met Edward. I certainly don't know him, but he seems nice enough. Smart. Healthy. I don't doubt he cares for you.

"I encouraged you to befriend him, yes. I knew it would be good for you. I also accept that he is likely your singer. But I did not foresee your carelessness. He is human, Bella. He cannot be trusted to keep your secret." I started to interrupt, but Charles threw up a hand in a "stop" gesture, and continued, "I know you think right now you can trust him, because right now he returns your… affections. But I have more experience than you in this; he will not remain honorable.

Has he told other humans about you?"

"We haven't discussed it, really," I was chagrined to hear myself mumble.

I saw a light in Charles' eyes; I'd given him the opening he needed, "So he hasn't given you his word to protect you—to protect us? Then you base your trust on what, exactly?"

He was making me feel small, and he knew it; he was good at it. He'd had a lot of practice.

I lashed out, "It's too late for recrimination, Charles; it's already happened."

"So what now?" Charles asked, his voice taking on an edge as sharp and as lethal as our teeth. "You stay with this human—"

"_He has a name!"_ I yelled.

"Yes," Charles held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Yes, he does. So you will stay with Edward for a few months, a year?"

I could swear I felt the sting of impossible tears. "Forever," I whispered.

Charles smiled then. He stood up, even as Renee stood with him to hold him back, and stepped right up against me. He hissed in my face, "Then what, Bella? While you stay lovely, he decays? While you move with the grace and speed of gazelles, he withers and fails? Your skin gleams while his folds up? Your hair shines while his falls out? You call him 'love' and he calls you _'granddaughter'_?"

My hand shot out at lightning speed, snatching the neck of his sweater and tearing it open with a flick, exposing his pale, muscled chest with its dusting of dark hair and the porcelain rips of teeth through flesh that marked his eternity. I yanked aside my collar, and stretched my neck to show my own scar, barely registering Renee's backwards step, as if she feared I would uncover hers as well.

"Look at me, Charles," I commanded, pushing my scarred shoulder at him. "Look at us.

"Look at what we are."

He stepped back from me. Slowly, almost absently, his hand lifted up to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, his fingers brushing delicately over his scars. As I watched, mesmerized, his fingers pressed into his skin, his hand forming a claw and digging, as if he would pluck out the offending tissue. A low growl rumbled in his chest, and as the sound built in volume and vibration, I realized that for all he had attained, Charles was no happier than I was.

A roar ripped out of his throat and he leapt for my, arms flailing like a runaway windmill, a hacking blow crashing against my collarbone; I heard the crack inside my skull and I was a cyclone of fists and kicks, yelling and pounding underneath and past his whirring hands, scratching his chest and snaking my head in for a bite.

But I wasn't a fighter and Charles had always been, so when he landed an exquisitely placed blow to my temple, I spun like a marionette ballerina and…

… tongues of incandescent orange crisping scorching blisters black and red splitting my skin shrieking and bubbling with clear fever searing molten skin pops and crackles flaring blinding licks of coruscating lava desert fire shards of glass splinters of dust winds of scarlet bloodshot gouts of flame my thin skin bursting with crimson screams blood burnt and acrid bitter yelling and rolling and howling for relief make it stop caustic bones sulfuric tenderness and flash bang yowl my skin where is my mind my lonely burning my acid curling smoke and bitter embers down to barren ash no heart no eyes no soul no longer me…

… and Renee's smooth hands under my arms, helping me back to my feet.

Angrily, I swung at her" "Don't you. Touch. Me." She danced back, just out of reach, and I was sorry my hand missed her lovely face, as Charles actually gasped. "Bella!"

My eyes swung to his, and I held him hard in my gaze. My head throbbed and my broken clavicle rendered my arm almost useless. It didn't matter; those were small things. I wanted him to feel the injury of my dead heart, the one he had stolen from me in that sweltering arroyo so many years ago, and delivered into eternity without my consent. I wanted to see him stagger under the weight of what he had snatched from me: my life, my death, my choice. That just like every other man, he had determined my fate and justified the crime by predicting what was best for me.

As I watched his eyes shift with recognition, I braced to take yet again the load of acquiescence. But instead, as Charles' eyes darkened with the burden of what he had robbed me of, I stood taller. I felt lighter. I watched the scrapes I had put on his chest healing, the bruising my fists had delivered fading from his skin as the moments ticked by. My panting slowed, then stilled. In the silence, the heaviness that had haunted me forever was receding. I could tell it might never disappear completely, but no matter: I thought I might float up to the ceiling, I was so buoyant.

I pushed my gaze into Charles and said quietly, "No more." He staggered back so slightly that I almost didn't see it, but I _had_ seen, and his eyes flicked away.

Quietly, calmly, softly, I said, "I don't know what the future holds. But for whatever time I have with Edward, I intend to own it."

"Daughter…" Charles started, but I cut him off: "No. You're out of it now. This is mine." I backed away from them and heard a sob break from Renee's chest. I didn't look at her.

"I'm going," I said. As I picked up my books and moved to the door, I saw deep sadness laid bare in Charles' eyes.

"Bella," he whispered, just as I shut the door behind me with a gentle click.


	28. Chapter 28

Author's note: I suspect that W2BW is more than half done at this point, and I _will_ finish it, but as you know if you've been reading my profile, my real life is in major upheaval right now; this is the last chapter I'd had in outline, so I was able to flesh it out for you, but the characters are completely silent right now, and no new chapters have even bare bones on which to hang words. Until my husband is out of danger, B & E likely won't be saying much. I am so sorry to keep you waiting, but I hope you will wait for my story to be whole.

A huge thanks to WouldYouLookAtThat and vkngqueen for becoming new reviewers; your wonderful reviews in my inbox made it possible for me to finish this chapter. I simply can't express how much your words meant to me.

* * *

**Chapter 27**

"Well, if it isn't the Lord of Fuck."

"Mornin' to you too, Alice," I said, heading for the coffee. Jasper was buttering toast, and motioned for me to have some. I snatched up a slice and plopped down at the table. Alice narrowed her eyes and said, "So. You've been doing it like alley cats and have yet to introduce me to her. She bite off your manners, too?"

"Mmph," I mumbled around toast. Jasper sat the plate of toast and a jar of plum jam on the table and turned back to get his mug.

"I've found someone for you to talk to," he said, sitting next to Alice, who promptly grabbed his coffee and started gulping it down.

"Who?" I asked, trying to remember what this was about.

"The guy who replaced me as teaching assistant in Military Psych is Suquamish."

Now I really felt lost, but I played it cool and just looked at Jasper, who continued, "He has some interesting ideas about… shall we say, _unusual_ stories and events."

Finally, I had to admit: "Jazz, what are we talking about, again?"

"Bella?" He arched a blond eyebrow. "I said I'd ask around the Psych Department? The teeth?" He gnashed his own for emphasis.

"Oh," I said, smearing jam on more toast. "Yeah. Teeth."

"Man, you are just gone on her, aren't you?"

"What do you mean," I said defensively, and glanced at Alice; she was absorbed in her iphone, but I suspected she was taking in every word. "I mean, um, yeah? I guess?"

Jasper snorted over his mug, before realizing it was empty and getting up to pour more. Before he could even sit it on the table, Alice grabbed it again and drank at least half without taking her eyes from her phone.

"We hardly see you anymore." Jasper let that comment hang in the air.

Alice sighed and clicked off her phone. "Yeah, but we certainly _hear_ you a lot."

"Like I haven't been listening to you singing the munchkin mambo for years," I retorted, getting up and putting my plate in the sink. I leaned against the counter and ran my hands through my hair. "We're going running in about twenty minutes. You can meet her then."

Alice squealed and drummed her harness boots on the floor in excitement, before pouting her lips at Jasper, "What do you think? The Lust lipstick or the Gash?"

Jasper looked at her blankly. She gave him a little shove, "The Gash was the one I painted on your nipples, and the Lust was the one I—" Jasper clapped his hand over her mouth and wrapped his other hand around her arm, pulling her from the kitchen with a noise of disgust. "Sorry," he mouthed at me, and I heard them climbing the stairs.

I wandered into my room; it was another silvery, overcast day. It was cold. I was trading my running shorts for sweats when I heard a soft noise behind me and a smoky voice said, "It seems a shame to cover that up."

"And it would be a shame to freeze it off, too, " I said, pulling up the sweat pants and snapping the elastic at my waist, before turning around into the arms of my delicious angel. She went up on tiptoes to give me a full, clinging kiss.

"Brrrr," I vibrated against her lips, "You're chilly." She turned from me and stepped past the couch, closing the window; I had taken to leaving it open, since she seemed to prefer coming in that way. I think she felt Jasper's scrutiny a bit too closely if he answered the door when she knocked.

"And you're… not," Bella said, giving me such a look over her shoulder; normally that expression would have made me jump her. Instead I said, "Alice wants to meet you."

Bella raised an eyebrow, then glanced down at her standard running garb of form-fitting top and leggings. She gave me a tiny scowl. I reached to tuck some stray tendrils of her hair back into her ponytail and said, "You are stunning. And while Alice may want to dress you"—Bella made a face—"she wants to dress everyone, and I told her we were going running, so we have a natural reason to leave quickly." I could see Bella hesitating, so I put my arms around her and drew her to me; I heard her inhale against my chest and relax into me, making a low purring sound.

"My angel, you are around people all the time. This will be no different."

She scoffed into my shirt, "It _is_ different! This is your sister. I want her to like me."

"How could she not? You are beautiful, smart, funny, and you are with me. If Alice doesn't like you, I'll kick her tiny ass."

Just as Bella barked out a laugh, a voice in the doorway said, "I'd like to see you try."

I groaned and spun us around to face my sister, posing with her feet wide apart and her hands on her hips. She was wearing a miniature flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off over a dress with a tiny old-fashioned floral print, which in turn was over a pair of dark, skinny jeans, and safety orange shoes with heels so high she was almost Bella's height had replaced the boots. She moved into the room, hand extended, already talking, " Hi Bella I'm Alice but then you already know that _jesus_ your hands are cold! You have a perfect figure I'd love to make clothes for you have you ever modeled I really need someone new for the holiday show and I could see you in reds with deep blue accents…"

Bella looked up at me for reassurance before smiling at Alice. I watched Bella dazzle Alice—I never got tired of watching her "turn on the charm"—and Alice not only stopped moving, she stopped talking.

"A miracle!" I exclaimed as I took Bella's hand and steered her around Alice toward the door.

"Whoa," I heard Alice exhale as we stepped onto the porch. In the time it took to zip my hoodie against the drizzle, Bella was yards ahead and grinning over her shoulder at me.

In just the short time I'd been running with Bella as my partner, I'd learned to lengthen my strides and set a strong, steady pace so that I could go farther with her. She'd pace me for most of a run, until holding back frustrated her, then she'd sprint away almost too fast for me to see, making a miles-wide circuit before returning to me. I used the time while she was away from me to still my thoughts and absorb all that had happened.

Bella had come into my life so suddenly and so forcefully that if I let myself contemplate it, my head spun. I wasn't looking for someone to spend time with, because I gave all my time to my music, And yet, now that I spent most of my time with her, I recognized how complete and content I felt. Her presence in my life made everything feel better. Smoother. More vibrant. The fact that she was… _other_ was so integral to her and to my knowledge of her that I didn't really find it as disconcerting as I should. It actually made a crazy kind of sense to me that a woman so beautiful, intelligent, and sensual would be otherworldly. Super-human. I felt totally justified in calling her an angel.

I watched her a few yards ahead of me—she was going to break away soon—and was yet again awed by her. In the clouded silver light, her hair shone like dark chocolate satin, glinting red and purple as it bounced around her shoulders. Her back was straight and her shoulders were broad; her arms were smoothly muscled, but nothing about her was masculine, just powerful, like the cougars she said she hunted. I still wanted to see that.

Her legs just knocked my socks off: long and lean and toned and shapely. I loved watching her evenly matched, cadenced stride. She ran with grace, light and almost silent, a thing of beauty. I thought about how exactly her ass fit into my hands, digging my fingers into those pert globes, feeling those solid muscles clench as she lifted her gorgeous legs around my waist… I groaned.

Bella spun around, a question on her lovely face, jogging backwards as perfectly as she had forwards—she was amazing. I had to grin at her, as her eyes roved over me. When she took in my semi-erect state, she gave me my smile and licked her lips for emphasis, I groaned again, lunging for her. She let me catch her, sweeping her into my arms and tangling our feet together. As we stumbled to a stop, my lips found hers and she pressed hungrily into my mouth. We were both always and continuously ready for each other. Sometimes I marveled that we got anything done.

As Bella rose up on her toes to lick the sweat from my jaw line, I glanced around quickly—we were close to a line of trees and shrubs on the campus circumference road. As I walked her backwards closer to cover, I pushed my hands down in her running pants, moaning as my palms cupped her firm flesh. That made her moan in return, and we were panting our growing desire into each other's mouths.

Because Bella was so strong, we could have sex almost anywhere; positions that would have been uncomfortable, painful, or just plain impossible for two humans were straight forward for us. I'm sure there was stuff we'd tried that would make porn stars go cross-eyed. This morning was no different.

As we rounded a stone wall separating the canoe yard from Union Bay, Bella toed off her shoes and wiggled her pants down. I leaned back against the wall, and she pushed my sweat pants down around my knees and backed into my now aching hardness. She rolled forward from the waist, taking her weight on her hands and kicking her feet up by my hips, so she was performing a yoga plank with her hands on the grass and her feet on the wall. All I had to do was step forward between the open vee of her legs to push into her cool wet pussy, steadying myself with a hand on each of her hips. I curled my fingers around her hipbones as I thrust in and up, making us both gasp. "You okay?" I checked in with her, and she bobbed her head, making her pony tail sway along the ground. Her hearing was so extraordinary that she'd know if anyone approached, but we'd still need to be quiet.

"God, angel, you are so tight like this," I ground out as I experimented with angles. "Bend your knees a little," I encouraged her as I dipped down for an upward thrust. She hissed at that and started her rumbling purr that vibrated straight through my cock; I wasn't gonna last long, I could tell. As I found a steady, hip-rolling rhythm, I reached under her to rub circles around her swollen clit, causing her to buck back into me with force—if I hadn't been holding onto her, she would have bounced me right off and it was fast and it was fabulous and we slammed together with a smack of flesh on flesh _fuck Bella I'm close_ and I watched myself sliding into her, both of us glistening with her arousal and _god you are so beautiful I just wanna kiss you and lick you and fuck you all day_ and she was softly husking my name as her muscles clenched hard around me and she pressed back into me impossibly close her stomach quivering and her thighs gripping me as she came then in a flash whirled off me, kneeling to take just my tip in her open mouth and milk me with her talented hands and my balls were twanging and I blew straight down her throat and her tongue pressed over my engorged head so she'd get the full taste that she loved and I pulsed into her waiting mouth as she mmmm's her satisfaction and I fell back into the wall with a whump, panting for air and clutching the rough surface for support.

Bella cleaned me with broad tongue strokes and pulled my pants back up. She nuzzled around my navel, snuffling and tickling me with her breath. I smiled down at her, feeling both elated and spent. She leaned away from me to step into her pants and shoes, before giving me a sunny grin that lit up the space around us. I pulled her into my arms, holding her tight and murmuring happy noises into her hair. There were no words for how I felt about this woman. I pressed a fingertip under her chin and tipped her face up to mine, kissing her with adoration and awe. She laced her fingers through mine and tugged me back to the road. She gave me a mischievous look: "Buy me a tea?" I arched an eyebrow at her, and smirked up one corner of my mouth. "Anything for you, angel," I promised as we headed back toward home.

88888888888

I peered through the open doorway, knocking on the jamb. A man stood up from the desk and just kept rising. Holy fuck, he was huge! He looked to be about my age, built like a linebacker with ruddy skin and blue-black hair gathered in a braid down his back. His dark eyes were inquisitive as they swept over me. "Edward Cullen?" he asked. I extended a hand and he gave it a firm shake—his grip was unnervingly strong. "Jacob Black?" I asked in return. He nodded once and motioned toward a chair next to the desk. I took in the room, crowded with several desks, bookcases and filing cabinets. Maps, movie posters, and framed engravings of battle scenes covered the walls. A beautiful old book lay open on the desk where Jacob Black sat, its yellowed pages covered in cramped cursive writing with small drawings sprinkled throughout. Jacob brought my attention back to him by saying, "Jasper said you were interested in Indian battle lore?"

"Ah," I hesitated, as his eyes bore into me. "Thanks for seeing me," I said, before adding, "I'm not exactly sure what I'm interested in."

Jacob gave an immense white toothy grin, "I hear that a lot." He turned toward the computer screen, saying, "Jazz said you had questions about tribal legends and creation myths."

I scowled a tiny bit, "I think those are Jazz's interests, actually." Jacob startled me with a booming laugh that was more like a howl than anything. He shook his head, chuckling, "Yeah, we can't get rid of him. He's sneaking his way into a teaching fellowship or I'm a werewolf." I jumped again; he _was_ completely wolfish to my eye. Why did this big guy have me on edge? But his words gave me a starting off point for why I was here.

"Yeah. Werewolves," I mumbled, uncertain how to start. This all felt crazy to me and yet I was living it. I noticed Jacob narrow his eyes and he exhaled hard through his nose. He pulled up a map of Puget Sound on his computer screen and used his cursor to outline areas as he talked. "Well," he said brusquely, "Let's start with the basics and see where that takes us."

He motioned toward an area on the map on the opposite side of the Sound from Seattle. "This was all the hunting and fishing land for my people. Suquamish means the people of the clear salt water, and a large part of our ancient diet was salmon. We traveled to neighboring areas to fish, and over time, the tribes fought for exclusive fishing areas along the rivers. Ultimately, we made complex agreements to grant and protect rights to take salmon and other fish.

"Once Vancouver and the Brits came and found our rich resources, it opened us up to trade, and fur traders and missionaries started semi-permanent settlements around Port Madison.

"I'm researching the elite battle warriors of the tribes around the Sound; there are surprising similarities in the origins of them all." Here he picked up the book opened on his desk. "The missionaries in particular learned about and recorded origin myths, in order to infiltrate the cultures and encourage the native people to accept Christianity. Some of these journals go back to the late 1700s, and they tell similar tales." He moved his cursor to the area sandwiched between the Park and the Strait. "The Quileutes, the Quinaults, down to the Salish and Suquamish, all speak of _Q'wati_ or _Dokibatt_ or _Musp_, the benevolent creator hero of the Puget Sound tribes. Q'wati is credited with creating the Quileute tribe and their neighbors, teaching them right behavior and cultural skills, and protecting them by changing the environment and getting rid of monsters."

I sat up straight. "Monsters?" I said, thinking of Bella's insistence that she was a monster.

Jacob nodded vigorously, his face becoming eager. "Yes. Q'wati turned a bachelor coalitions of wolves into warriors—actually all the first nation people are said to be descended from a wolf pack—to protect the families. When monsters came, young men would change at will into huge wolflike fighters with unbreakable teeth and claws to battle the monsters and rend them to bits. Once the monsters were destroyed, the young men were free to find mates and lead normal lives, but if the monsters returned, the sons or grandsons would once again change into wolf warriors to protect the people."

"Who are the monsters?" I asked, glad my voice stayed steady. Jacob flipped through the journal, handling the brittle pages with care. He turned the spread toward me. In a fading ink illustration, I saw a vaguely drawn figure dwarfing the Indian it hunched over. It was hard to tell, but it seemed to be chewing on the neck of the person. Jacob tapped his finger on the picture, saying, "They seemed to be humanoid. They attacked people, especially the young. Legends tell of people being eaten or just being drained." I shuddered, and Jacob raised his eyebrows at me, "Not what you were planning on hearing, is it?"

"The monsters were blood drinkers," I said quietly.

"It's not clear, but there are some stories to that effect, yes."

"Where do they come from?"

"Inconclusive," Jacob said, snapping the book closed, making me jump yet again. "Some legends say Daskiya, the basket woman, was the first. An ogress who stole children and ate them. Pale, strong, with red eyes and a mouth full of big sharp teeth. Some legends say that if a person was bitten, but escaped, they became ogres who hungered for human flesh and blood. Vancouver wrote about The Transformer, a being like Q'wati, who came out of Canada and made both the wolf warriors and the monsters they fought."

"Why would you make a people and then make enemies for them to fight?" I mused.

Jacob rolled his massive shoulders and snapped his head from side to side. "So you'd have a reason to make warriors," he said flatly, as if it was obvious. "But you know how the Canadians can be," he added as if that explained everything. I stayed silent, so he asked, "Have I touched on any of your questions?"

Feeling like I needed some air, I nodded, "I've taken up enough of your time, but I'd like to read more about all this, "I said, waving my hand in the air. Jacob snatched a piece of paper from the recycling bin next to the desk and scrawled some web site addresses. "These are a good start," he said, passing me the paper. I stood up and shook his hand. "Call me if you have questions," he said. "I love talking about this stuff."

As I left his office, I folded the paper and pushed it in my jeans pocket. My head was spinning with ideas and images. Was Bella an ogress? Was she, or those like her, the monsters feared by the native people? Certainly she had scared me badly that one time. After my initial fears had faded—or maybe I'd just stuffed them deep inside me—I felt only excitement and delight when I thought about Bella. When I was with her, I certainly felt like everything was as it should be. It was all so weird and confusing, yet I had never traveled an easy road or made simple choices. I still needed answers, but I was inclined to have faith that everything with Bella would be fine. In the meantime, Jacob Black had given me a lot to think about.


	29. Chapter 29

Author's note: Even though life has been kicking my ass (update on my profile), the characters WANT to continue their story! Yay! So here's what Bella's been pestering me about lately.

Music choices—Kendra Smith: _Space Unadorned;_ Hank Dogs: _I'm an Angel;_ Aether: _Half Light;_ Lori Carson: _Waking to the Dream;_ Milla Jovovich: _The Original Flu._

* * *

**Chapter 28**

I hadn't spoke with Tanya since my blow up with Charles. So I was surprised when I got a text from her: _Willing to talk?_

Truth be told, I had missed her. More than I wanted to admit. She was the closest thing I had to a "girlfriend," and I had so many questions about Edward. Well, not about him as a person, but about our interactions. About the sex. About my feelings for him. I texted her back: _I'll call when I'm out of class._

Edward was waiting for me as I left class, something I had told him he didn't need to do. It was silly for me to say that, really, because we wanted to spend every available moment together. His presence had swiftly become the most nourishing thing in my life. He was filling up all my gaps in ways that were both wonderful and worrisome—I certainly had not been willing to admit that I needed a man in my life, much less a human one. I hadn't ever felt such a desire for companionship, yet I didn't feel crowded by his company; rather, I always wanted more.

I walked into his arms and instantly felt… _home._ His smell, once a source of such distress, anchored me. His heartbeat calmed me. His breathing soothed me. His very presence made a strong argument for the existence of my soul, because he tickled and appeased my spirit in the same way feeding on a cat did my body. And for some bizarre reason that I couldn't fathom, I did the same for him.

"Bella," he murmured into my hair, nuzzling and inhaling. "I've missed you." I made a "humph" noise into his chest, denying his words even as they thrilled me.

"It's only been hours," I spoke into his sweater, redolent of his hot sea scent.

"Too many," he said softly, lifting my chin up for a kiss. Like all of Edward's kisses, this one seemed tailor-made for me: his lips molded to mine like pieces in a puzzle, a perfect fit to completion.

"Get a room!" I heard from yards away, and we broke apart to see Edward's small and lovely sister pronk toward us like an excessively colorful gazelle. Ever since Edward had formally introduced me to Alice, she had created opportunities to spend time with me; I could tell her curiosity about me was raging. She was not shy about asking me probing questions, but I had decades more experience avoiding answers than she had seeking them. Still, her persistence was unshakable.

As Alice approached, I had to smile. Her dark hair was twanked around her head like a spiky halo. She wore a soft green sweater with knitted-on ruffles around the deeply scooped neck, a dark orange corduroy jacket, and tight jeans cut off at the knee over brown patterned tights. Her arms were jangling with bracelets, and she was wearing boots that were absolutely fabulous.

"Piglet!" Edward exclaimed, scooping Alice into a hug; he was so much taller that his arms actually wrapped around her head. She squirmed free of his grasp and jumped at me, and I had no choice but to hug her. Edward rolled his eyes at me as I carefully embraced her, but he could tell from my smile that I didn't mind. He and I had discussed my not modeling for her, lest that amount of close contact clued her into my "otherness." But she was so "touchy-feely" that there was no stopping her having contact with me, and she couldn't get within reach of me without stroking my hair. She did so now.

She spoke in her usual geyser of words, "Bella with that jacket you should wear a braid I have a perfect little cloche that would be brilliant and something sparkly on your ears you're not pierced are you that's a shame would you consider it and I can't get over the color of your hair are you sure those are natural highlights?"

She was scowling slightly as she fingered a piece of my hair and I used the split second pause to interject, "Where did you find those boots?"

She looked down, pointing her toes, then spinning, as she said, "These are Fluevogs he's my favorite shoe designer on the planet except for Melissa from Brazil and who can afford those always so innovative I want these in black too but you should definitely get them in brown which is really more your neutral," and she broke off long enough to raise a tiny dark eyebrow at Edward before she sang, "Christ-mas is com-ing, and Bel-la wants some boots…"

Edward sighed loudly and took my hand, leading me toward the music building; he was putting the finishing touches on his competition entry and liked me to be with him when he was working on it—"because you completed it for me," he'd said too many times to count. Alice fell in step with us, continuing to prattle.

I tugged on Edward's hand to get his attention and said, "I'll meet you in ten minutes?"—I had learned to speak right over Alice— and he nodded, moving on with his sister, while I stepped away and took out my phone.

Tanya answered immediately, "Bella?" and I heard tension in her ever-sultry voice. Human men were drawn to her and even I felt her pull, although for me it wasn't sexual. She was the clichéd Arctic Circle beauty: long blond hair, blue eyes, creamy skin, curvaceous and vivacious, with an enticing voice that still carried a hint of her Slavic origins, and a sparkling smile. Of the three sisters in her family, she was the most companionable, and because of her age, she had great knowledge and even greater control. Although I was certain her control around men hadn't always been good. She wore too much makeup and her clothing was revealing—what human girls called slutty—all designed to ensnare lovers, and she could be almost as patronizing with me as Charles. Still, there was much to learn from her experiences, and I had need of that right now.

"It is so good to hear you," I said, hoping to put Tanya at ease. It must have worked, because her voice lost its edge as she responded, "Beauty, I've missed talking with you. How _are_ you?" I could tell her question wasn't merely a pleasantry, so I decided to answer her frankly.

"I'm confused, Tanya."

I sensed some hesitation on her part when she said, "About what?" She likely thought I would say something about my fight with Charles, but I had no interest in spending time on something so utterly useless.

"Edward."

"Oh," she sounded… disappointed. "You haven't killed him yet?"

"No!" I said forcefully, then spoke more quietly, "I could never hurt him. I care about him deeply. It's gotten quite difficult to be apart from him."

"Well, Beauty, that's not unexpected with your singer. You will be changing him soon."

"NO!" I shouted, a few distant humans turning their heads at the sound. I took in a breath for calm. "I will _not_ be changing Edward."

"Bella." Tanya's tone was patient and I felt my irritation rise. "I am not a child, Tanya," I snapped back, wondering if I'd made a mistake talking to her. She would most certainly be sharing our conversation with Charles and the very thought had me seeing red.

"Bella," she said again, and I bit back a retort. I _did_ need her expertise. "What?" I could not keep the exasperation from my voice.

Her sigh gusted through the phone, "When—_if_—we find our singers, we most certainly kill them. There are so few instances of singers surviving that there isn't even what I could call a body of knowledge about it. In every example I know of where a singer survived, it is because he or she was changed rather than killed. The Volturi would know more… "

"I am _not_ going to the Volturi with this," I hissed.

"Of course not," she said, like she was explaining something to a dunce, and my irritation flamed into anger. "All I'm saying is that I know of no instance where any singer remained human and alive. It isn't possible." I swear I heard her jaw snap shut, as if to say, "And that's the way it is!"

Attempting to contain my rising fury, I clipped my words, "Why is that, do you think?"

"Because Bella," she said in exactly the same tone I had heard humans use with their children when they told them to behave, "as you've just said, it hurts to be apart. You will drain him to stop the hurt, or you will turn him and be mated."

"Those are not options," I said flatly.

"Then," Tanya scoffed in a harsh voice, "when he dies, you will be in hellish pain and…"

… and my heartbeat pounded through my body like canon fire, jerking me with its force boom BOOM! _BOOM!!_ like God was using me as a drum in the parade to my death marching me charred and shrieking as skin pulled and hardened to marble to granite to diamonds to dust my last breaths grilled my lungs to black and the blood oozed like Kilimanjaro through my veins to crimson lava and my pores spat microscopic toxins and my tears ran poison and my sweat dried to radioactive salt and my teeth ran sweet sweet venom and…

"… Bella! Are you there? What's happened?"

"I'm here," I gasped from my position on the grass. "I had a flashback."

"Again?" Tanya's voice was coming from the phone where I'd dropped it when I feel to my knees. I pulled the phone toward me, hearing her say, "Charles said you had one when you two fought."

"Yes," was all I could manage, but my mind was screaming _when he hit me._ "I have to go." I clicked off my phone and rammed it in my jacket pocket. I got to my feet and ran as fast as I dared to Edward.

888888888

When I burst through the door to the music studio, Edward was sitting in front of a computer with headphones on, his eyes closed. With my hearing, I could recognize the playback of "Waiting," leaking out around the ear pads. It sounded heavenly.

I could feel my anxiety melting away as I walked soundlessly to kneel next to him. His smoked almond smell curled around me and I didn't want to startle him, but I had to touch him. Gently, I put my hand on his knee. There was a small rip in his jeans and his body heat poured through the fabric like he was my very own furnace. I heard his phenomenally thick, long lashes scrape along the lenses of his glasses as he opened his eyes, and I looked up to be engulfed in the green fire of his gaze.

I reached up and slowly drew off his glasses, revealing the full force of his eyes, feeling his soul pour into mine until I was panting from the power of that look. It rocked me back on my heels and his hands shot out to steady me. As Edward touched me, my body swayed backwards, then I crashed forward into his arms, rising on my knees to bring my mouth to his. I had a second of internal hesitation, hoping I wasn't unnerving him with my intensity, but he returned my kiss with passion, exactly matching mine.

I was learning that Edward wasn't afraid. Everything I threw at him, he never ducked, never dodged. He caught it all, absorbed it, and sent it back with tenderness and lust and consideration and joy. Ever time I expected him to run from me, he moved toward me instead. He'd even reminded me, to my chagrin, that I seemed to be the one doing all the running away.

As Edward's warm lips pressed mine, nipping and nibbling and tugging at my own, the full impact of Tanya's words struck me. I gasped and pulled back. Edward's eyes flew open, seeking mine, and whatever he saw there made his brow furrow in worry.

"Angel, what's up?" he said as he removed his earphones.

"I called Tanya."

"And…?" he tried to draw me out with that one word. Even though I hadn't detailed my altercation with Charles to Edward, he knew I hadn't spoken with my family or my friend since then. I struggled with what to say; was I ready to tell Edward the depth of my feelings for him? Was his being my singer a form of preordained love? Was I willing to be in love?

I recalled Tanya's scorn as she told me that I had no choice but to kill Edward; couldn't she see that all the paths she'd listed were a single road to Hell? If I drank him, he died. If I changed him, he died. If I stayed with him until his senility, he died, and if any of those things occurred, I died with him. A sob choked out of me.

"I had a flashback."

"Bella, angel," Edward reached for me and pulled me onto his lap. He wound his arms around me and I sank against his chest, my own heaving tearlessly. "Tell me, Bella," he peppered my face with soft kisses: my eyelids, my nose, my forehead and cheeks, and finally, over and over, my lips. "Tell me," his voice was husky with concern. I snagged my lower lip in my teeth to stop its trembling, and he lifted his hand and used his thumb to free it, rubbing his thumb over my lip again and again.

Edward kissed me until he filled me with his sweetness and his caring and his desire; he filled me so full of himself there was no room left in me for anything else, and I kissed him back with all the love I felt for him, and yes: it _was_ love. Whether or not I was prepared to state it, there was simply no other word for it.

I looked into his eyes, wanting him to see what I was feeling, and a surge of electricity jolted through me when I saw his pupils dilate, darkening his eyes to almost black. His lips parted and his entire body went still and soft against mine. "Angel," he breathed. His luscious scent bathed my face and I inhaled him, letting the beauty of his very essence chase out all my demons. In that instant, I truly became his angel, and as my eyes prickled with tears I could not form, his welled and spilled over, the gentlest smile crooking his perfect lips. His stroked my hair, my arms and back, and hummed against me tunelessly. I sank my entire body against him, losing myself to all that was Edward, and in that moment, winning all that was Bella back.

We sat like that for minutes or days before Edward spoke quietly, "Will you tell me what happened?"

I sat up so I could look at him, and circled my arms around his neck. "I don't know what to say. It's hard."

At that, Edward wiggled under me, bouncing his hips up a bit and saying, "Not yet, angel, but soon, I'm sure." That made me smile.

"I'll tell you what," he said in his most velvety voice. "I'll play 'Waiting' for you, so you can hear the changes I've made since last time, and I'll hold you while you listen. Then if you feel like talking, I'll be right here."

How could one man be so perfect. I nodded and snuggled back against him, enjoying the feel of his muscles moving in his arms and chest as he reached around me, fiddling with the computer. From the speakers hung along the wall of the studio came the delicate sound of a dulcimer; Edward had added it since the last play-through I'd heard, and I loved how I could still recognize it as his playing, even though the computer had created the sound of strings being hammered. The instrument blended well with the violin and accordion he'd added in earlier iterations, playing under and supporting his polished piano performance.

I leaned back in his arms to smile at him, hoping my expression conveyed how wonderful his music sounded, how happy it made me, and I was rewarded with his lopsided grin. His eyes held nothing but acceptance and ardor and generosity, and my dead heart sparked.

To the strains of his beautiful music, I started talking.


	30. Chapter 30

Author's note: Real life has granted me a brief break, so here is a new chapter out of what I hope to be more coming soon.

Music choices—Ani DiFranco: _Overlap _(the_ Living in Clip _version is appropriately angsty); Judith Owen: _Poseiden;_ Elysian Fields: _Tangled Up;_ Cranes: _Far Away;_ Stina Nordenstam: _And She Closed Her Eyes._

* * *

**Chapter 29**

I figured Bella had spun off from us because Alice was making her uneasy—shit, Alice made me uneasy sometimes. So I wasn't especially worried as I continued toward the music building, my sister babbling away at my side.

But when Bella came into the studio, I could feel her agitation from the moment she placed her hand on my knee. There was no explanation for our connection—it was as otherworldly as everything else about us—but it was as real—surreal?—as real could be. We just _got_ each other. So anything that distressed her distressed me.

When she told me she'd had yet another of those freaky episodes where she did her version of fainting, I felt anxious on her behalf, but also eager: I relished opportunities to learn more about her, but I was careful to never pry. I was in this oddball relationship for the long haul, and I figured she'd tell me what I needed to know when I needed to know it.

I played what I was confident was the final version of "Waiting" for her, bursting with pride and excitement for her to hear it finished, and in that magical way music always has, Bella sank down into it, soothed and softened as she cuddled in my lap. I never tired of how small and delicate she could feel, when actually she was neither. But she could project alluring femininity whether she was being bold and powerful or uncertain and shy. That my music could calm her distress was just one more way we were connected, and in whatever way I could bring her happiness, I was grateful and elated.

As the last notes sounded and the computer automatically scrolled into earlier versions of "Waiting," Bella sat up. I could feel the tension in her body; I reached to turn off the music, but she stopped me with a hand on my arm. Using a pen from the console, she piled her hair up in a messy bun and stabbed the pen through to hold it all in place. I had learned that this was one of her "getting down to business" gestures and she had my full attention.

Her voice was husky with emotion, "When I went to pick up my text books from Charles, we had a fight." She heaved out a sigh, and I wanted so much to ask what they'd fought about, but I knew now was not the time for questions. Since she hadn't already shared any of this with me, I figured there was more to the story than a tiff with Dad.

"It was silly, really." She gave me a tiny smile, and I returned it to encourage her. "Renee wanted me to bring you over so she could meet you. She seemed both excited and puzzled that I was… dating?" Bella looked at me—is that what we were doing?—but I gave her my full on grin to confirm the idea. Hmm, _dating…_

I hastened to say, "I'd love to meet her, too."

Bella tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth, and I felt her tense again as she spoke, "Well, I don't think that's likely." I raised an eyebrow rather than divert her with words; I could tell she needed to get this thing off her chest.

"She can be… such a… _girl,_" Bella spat, and I barked out a laugh. She furrowed her brow and I made puppy dog eyes to show I was sorry for interrupting, earning a peck on the lips. But then, she rubbed her hands over her face, and began twirling loose tendrils of hair around her fingers, staring off into space. I stroked her back in small, soothing circles and waited for her focus to return.

Bella twisted in my lap, straddling my legs, and she took my face between her hands. "Edward. I have never talked with anyone about this. I could be putting you in danger when all I want to do is protect you."

Her words melted me, but at the same time, I was excited: was I about to learn more about her otherworldliness and how she came to be that way? I put all my heart and soul into my words as I said, "Angel, I trust you to keep me safe—haven't you always?"

"If you share this with anyone, I may not be able to…"

"Bella, you mean so much to me. If you are asking for confidentiality, you've got it. I will not share what you're telling me with anyone."

She positively beamed at me, like the sun rose golden and glowing in her smile. I thought, _my god, baby, don't you see? I would do anything for you!_ And watched her visibly relax.

"My human life was spent in a mission town in what came to be Arizona. Because my mother was part Spanish and part… what was then thought of as savage, heathen, damned… my father would not marry her. If I had been a boy…" Bella's voice grew small and angry, before she shook her head and continued, "He drove her away, and she vanished into the desert. Sometimes I wonder, when I hunt cougars now, if it's payback, if one killed my mother out there, in the scrub…

"My father was a harsh, lonely man. Our life was hardscrabble, day to day exhausting and without reward. He had nothing to offer as a dowry for me, and no hope any man would want me, had he all the gold in the world.

"So when it was abundantly clear that there would be no husband to hand me off to and I was aging past my prime,"—all I could think was _jeez was he blind?— _"he conspired to sell me to an old man who was desperate for caretaking. He got a lot for me because I was still a virgin." Bella shuddered and I held her close. My leg was getting all pins and needles from having her on my lap, but there was no way I was letting her out of my arms. I leaned my face into her neck, and planted soft kisses there, both giving and seeking solace.

But Bella had more to say, "I'd spent my life in servitude. I was miserable and lonely, and my misery made me defiant. When my father smacked me for my rebellion, I would scratch his face, and he would lock me out of the house. The missionaries were kind to me, giving me a corner to sleep in, but they wouldn't go against my father, and eventually he would always want me back to carry his water and cook his stew and scrub his loathsome chamber pot.

"So when my father told me I was to be 'married' and I heard him tell the old man that I'd require hitting to keep me pliant, I stole a horse and fled."

"Thank goodness you were smart," I told her, but that made her shake her head and give me a rueful smile.

"Not as smart as all that. I couldn't read—had never seen a map. Didn't know where there was another town. No money. No friends. Never ridden a horse.

"So when I whipped the horse and screamed in its ears for it to run, I'm sure it thought the devil was on its back and it galloped for dear life. Somehow I managed to stay on… until it jumped an arroyo…"

Bella's words were choked, her jaw knotted. I stood up, holding her tight to me, "Shhh, love, hush. You don't have to tell me all this now."

She twisted from my arms and began pacing from one end of the studio to the other.

"I do," she almost cried, then she stopped and looked at me with devastation in her eyes. I moved to hold her, but she held up a hand in a "stop" gesture. I ran my hand through my hair, not knowing how I could help her in her obvious distress.

"You need to hear this. I _need_ to say this." I nodded to show her I would listen, and sat back down.

She gulped air, then grew very still. When she finally spoke again, her voice was faint and far away, "Charles told me he found me with my neck broken, bleeding steadily from a gash in my head.

He was drawn to the blood."

I couldn't help it, I gasped out loud. The idea of my angel lying paralyzed in a ditch while some… man stalked her… I couldn't take it. "Bella, no," my voice shook, "How fucking awful was that… he killed you? I can't hear this…"

Her face went hard, like a mask. Something animal moved behind her eyes. She was on me in a flash, grasping my jaw in her vice-like fingers, holding my gaze to hers. Her voice was low, but menacing, "You _will_ hear this, and then you will never joke about my changing you to be like me ever again." I closed my eyes against the rage on her face and inhaled the calming sweetness of her breath _motherfucker this was getting intense_ when she released me, and I sagged out of the chair to the floor.

She resumed her pacing, stalking back and forth like a beast in a cage. Uneasy and fascinated, I watched her, dumbstruck by her power and her beauty.

When she resumed her story, her voice was calmer: "Charles was very, very lonely. He didn't often come across his own kind, and having been changed by a rogue, with no benefit of learning from an elder, he was wary. He had to teach himself to control his blood lust in order to be around humans, but his time in the company of others was always brief.

"When Charles was changed, he had no idea the torture of changing would end,"—Bella looked at me, her expression confirming her use of the word _torture;_ my mouth was dry and I felt queasy—"he's told me that he thought he was imprisoned in Hell for choosing a life of roaming the New World against the wishes of his family, who had wanted him to marry, settle down, carry on the family business. When he emerged from the punishment of his change, he vowed to mend his ways and honor his family, even though they were most certainly turned to dust by then.

"So when he followed the scent of my blood to me, he reviewed his limited recollections of what had been done to him, and combined that with some experimenting he had done,"—she saw my shudder and pursed her lips to show me she recognized the horror I was feeling; I was beginning to understand her abhorrence of changing me to be like her—"and he bit me at my pulse points, putting his venom in my bloodstream."

Bella grew quiet and still. I watched emotions fly like storm clouds across her bewitching features. I saw pain, and terror, and confusion, and agony, and through it all, I saw her strength and loveliness. Into the silence of the studio, the notes of a dirge filled my head and I saw a vision of Bella standing in a spotlight in a somber dress while I leaned over my piano in the dimness behind her. She started speaking again and I shook my head hard to bring back my focus.

"My first years of my new life"—Bella made a wry face—"were… troublesome for Charles. He spent all his time trying to keep me out of harm's way… control me," she stumbled a little on the word _control. _I had not experienced much of her bullheadedness, but I had no doubt it was there in her, and Charles had referred to it with a tight expression when he had visited me.

I hesitated to interrupt, but something in her tone made me ask, "You felt trapped, didn't you?"

Bella scowled, "What do you mean?"

"Well, it was like you traded one form of captivity for another, just when you thought you were escaping. It would have made _me_ crazy."

Bella's face broke and she launched herself at me, knocking me over and pinning me to the floor. Her ribcage heaved against mine as she sobbed into my neck. I brought my arms around her and tangled our legs together to anchor her to me. I kissed her hair and made lulling noises, rocking her gently.

I considered what she had told me—her life sounded like the bumper sticker: a fucking bitch and then she'd died. Or at least she had wanted to. But then, after enduring who knows what sort of hell, she'd been… reborn, I guess, into another controlling relationship, with yet another man who wanted to arrange her life for her, seemingly denying her any say.

Then I thought back to Charles' face as he sat in my room, talking about her. He was bereft at her absence, worried, even frightened. He wasn't a man given to losing control, yet he was so unnerved by her disappearance that he had come to me, a human, for help. I had no doubt that he loved her, as only a father can. More. He had literally loved her to death.

As her gasping subsided, I lifted my lips close to her ear and barely spoke, "What are your flashbacks like?"

She stiffened and I instinctively loosened my hold on her. I didn't want her to feel interrogated by my question or my actions, and I knew I'd made the right move when she relaxed back on me; her otherness made her very solid, and I was glad for the sound-dampening rubber mat on the studio floor, cushioning my bones.

She spoke quietly, her words muffled by my shirt, "They are always the same. I'm lying helpless, listening to the horse running away. A man comes and I think he's going to rape me, but I can't fight. Then I am convulsing in torment. Burning. Inhaling fire. Bleeding flame. My skin roasting on my frame. And always a man's voice, telling me through this agony that all will be well. When I first come… back to myself, afterwards, I always wonder how anyone could truly think I'd be well through that magnitude of pain…"

"What brings them on?" I must've hit on the billion-dollar question, because Bella sprang away from me, looking confused and cornered. I sat up slowly. I was on the right track. "Bella? I know it feels uncomfortable for you, but I have an idea. Do you trust me?"

She bit her lip. If I hadn't been watching her carefully, I never would have seen the nod she made. I stayed seated on the floor, below her in a position of subservience and slowly extended my hand. She just looked at it, like she didn't know what it was, then her eyes flew to mine, white showing all around, like a skittish foal. I needed her to hear me, but I had to go very carefully.

I said in a low, calm voice, "That first night, when you walked me home? I gave you my sweater. You lifted the sleeve to your face and then you went totally still. You fell to the ground before I could even catch you.

Why, Bella?"

Her eyes darted around the room, finally coming back to mine. "I had a flashback."

"Yes, and what brought it on?"

She took a shuddering breath, and shrugged. When she spoke, her tone was regretful, "Your smell."

"What about my smell?"

"God, Edward!" The words exploded out of her. "You smelled like heaven. I wanted to bite you"—I stomped down my urge to cringe and nodded for her to go on—"but I already didn't want to hurt you… exactly. I wanted to…"

"Tell me," I whispered.

"I wanted to _fuck_ you, all right?!" she yelled into the silence of the studio. I was grateful for the sound-proofing.

I couldn't help but smirk at the idea that I'd brought this gorgeous woman to her knees, but I knew I was onto something here. "And that made you flashback to Charles finding you?"

"Yes. No. I knew he'd be… dismayed."

"About me blowing wind up your skirt?"

She actually guffawed at me, and I smiled back. She glanced at me a bit flirtatiously, "Yes." Then she tilted her chin down and gave me a look through her lashes, "No." As suddenly as it had come, her playfulness was gone and her face grew thoughtful. Sober.

This was it. "Angel, what were you doing before you came to me here? When you had the flashback just now?"

Bella's face twisted like a small child about to burst into tears, "I was telling Tanya about my fight with Charles…"

"And that fight was about…"

"My… feelings for you."

Inside I was doing the happy dance _she has feelings for me and was telling her dad she has fucking feelings for me_ but I couldn't let her admission derail us when I thought we were close to a breakthrough; I pressed, "What feelings, Angel?"

_Here it comes._

Her voice was a bare breath, "Changing you to be one of us."

To say that was unexpected would win The Understatement of The Year award: I felt my mouth pop open from the surprise of it.

I had anticipated her saying she loved me. She did, didn't she? I could feel it in her touch. I could see it in her eyes. Was I only projecting my own growing feelings out on her? Was I even worth her love? I wanted it as much as I wanted music. Air. Light. _Love._

Despite my shock at her revelation—she had fought with her father about changing me, and my curiosity to know more was making my stomach do flipflops—I had to push her into recognizing what was happening with her flashbacks. I was so sure…

"Bella," I said quietly, holding her nervous gaze. "Why do you have flashbacks?"

She gasped at my question, "I… I've never… I don't know."

"I think you do."

She scowled at me then, and it was adorable and intimidating. She was my ferocious angel and I wanted her in that moment so much that my leg muscles and fingers and bottom lip twitched. I held myself still and took a deep breath, waiting.

Bella's eyes looked far away. Her body was frozen in that weird way she had. The room was so quiet it ticked.

When she spoke, her voice was a whisper, but it rasped against the silence, making me shudder.

"Men."

I waited. My hips hurt from sitting so still on the floor, but I ignored the ache and gave her my complete focus.

Finally, I prompted, "What about men?"

She shook her head. "Love."

I sucked in a breath. "What about love?"

When she spoke, her voice was two hearts breaking. "There is none."

I was instantly afraid, and sad, and lost. My body leaned unbidden toward her. "Oh Bella, beautiful girl. What does that mean?"

She looked at me then, and her eyes were filled with a longing so powerful I was drawn to her, scooting forward on my hands and knees. She wound her fingers in my hair, tugging almost painfully. "I love your hair," she murmured. I sighed and leaned against her legs.

She spoke faintly above me, "My father didn't love me. I was a burden to him. He tried to _sell_ me."

"He gave you life."

Her voice filled with quiet rage, "He made me want to die.

"And when I had my chance, Charles snatched it away. He wanted me to love him, but how could I? He stole my death."

"He gave you a second chance."

She dropped to her knees in front of me, moving so fast I couldn't follow. Her hand clenched in her collar until her knuckle bones stretched her smooth skin like a drum, and wrenching aside the fabric, she exposed her scar. "Look," she cried, her voice trembling.

"He made me a monster."

I reached out a tentative finger and traced along the white crescent. Her skin shivered under my touch. I shook my head and whispered, "No. Only love could have made this scar."

Her face was furious, wild, wondrous. "He made Renee to be his love," she spat.

I spoke in a hushed voice, "So that you were free to be with me."

She smiled, but it wasn't happy and it didn't reach her eyes. "And then there's you."

I could barely speak, "What about me?"

Her voice was hushed, raw, nasty, "You seem like one more man telling me that the hell I'm in is a good place to be."

My muscles locked and my blood raced, making my vision pulse. I stared at the gorgeous, strange woman in front of me. She was everything to me.

"Bella. Angel.

"I love you."

It happened in a split second: she snarled, her teeth flashing white behind her curled lips, her eyes bleeding deepest brown to scarlet and she lunged at me yowling. My being shrieked at me to get back, throw something at her, run. But against all instinct, I wrapped my arms around her, grasping her as tightly as I could while she thrashed and snapped her jaws like a rabid thing. I pressed against her hard, harder, and shouted into the fray, "Do it, Bella. Kill me or keep me, I'm yours.

"I love you."

And justlikethat, she stilled.

She didn't need tears to cry. Her whole body crumpled in my arms. I was panting from fear and exertion, and felt sweat trickle down my spine. I held her and rocked her and rubbed my face in her hair.

Finally, she spoke into my chest, "Edward, take me home."

I didn't know where home was to Bella, but I knew where I wanted it to be. Helping her stand, pulling an arm around her small waist, I led her from the studio, toward my bed.


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 30**

Our walk across the interior of the campus was quiet. Edward kept his arm around me, and I was comforted by the protectiveness of the gesture. Hadn't I just been telling him how I needed to protect him?

Even though I couldn't really feel fatigue, my brain was exhausted from the ups and downs of the day, and I wanted to curl up next to Edward's heat and pull his pine needle and wool smell around me like a blanket. I just wanted to sink into him and forget.

I had caught up in all my classes, and I was full of anticipation: Edward was finishing up his composition and he would have more time to read my journals. I was eager to know what he thought of my writing and apprehensive as to what he'd think about my life. There were some disturbing things from my past that might make him withdraw from me, yet everything I had shown him so far had only served to bring him closer. And closer was absolutely where I wanted him.

I was upset from my call with Tanya and disoriented from the flashback. Why was everyone always talking about my changing Edward to be like me? _Gah._

Then Edward played his composition for me and it was even more beautiful than the last time I'd heard it. His music was a womb of safety and life; it made me feel both vulnerable and capable. I was envious of his ability to create such beauty, and I felt privileged that he shared it with me, even tried to tell me that I had given him the music, which was just… silly.

I sat on his lap during the playback, letting Edward's heat and delectable scent warm me. He encouraged me to tell him why I was upset, and as ever, he was patient with me. It scared me. I felt like he was asking me to peel away layers of myself, until my lifeless glass heart was exposed to his scrutiny. How could he possibly want me once he saw the blackened hardness of it?

But he had. He wanted it. He wanted me. And when I'd panicked and snapped my teeth at him, instead of running, he'd said he _loved_ me.

Just that fast, I was at the crossroads. Just as Tanya had warned me—and Charles—I was at the tipping point of several lifetimes of uncertainty and loneliness and anger and desire. Edward loved me. I had felt it in his lovemaking, Seen it in his eyes. Heard it in his voice. Experienced it in his actions. Could I return his love? Would I? And if I did, what would that mean. For him. For me.

For us.

I was fairly certain what I'd been feeling for him was also love, but I simply could not understand how he could love me. I just wasn't loveable. Remotely. It was a mistake to love me. Stupid. Pointless. Deadly.

When we got to Edward's house, I was reluctant to go in. I wanted the comfort of his body, the oblivion of his smell, the ecstasy of his taste. But he had just revealed his soul to me, and I wasn't prepared to expose mine at all. I wanted to drown in him and hide from him and I had no idea how to choose.

I hesitated on the dark porch. When he noticed my hanging back, Edward turned to me and held my face in his hands, "Come in, Bella. Please?" His eyes were earnest and uncertain and very, very green. I couldn't look into them for long.

"What about Jasper? Alice?"

"What about them?"

"I don't think I'm up for 'hanging out.'"

"We don't have to."

"But you need to eat and I…"

"Bella," Edward's tone was almost pleading, "I want you with me. Please, Angel?"

I shrugged and sighed, nodding and he opened the door, ushering me in. The hall was dark and the house was quiet. I went straight to the French doors that separated Edward's room from the hall. I heard him go into the bathroom, so I lit a few candles and took off my boots. I flopped down on the big couch, wondering what I would say when Edward returned.

I heard the toilet flush, then Edward moving around in the kitchen area. He returned with a small glass of amber liquid that smelled divine. Raising it up, he asked, "Want a taste?" The liquid glowed in the glass, the color of topaz from the southwest, my home.

I nodded and Edward lifted the glass to his fabulous mouth, taking a sip. I watched his full bottom lip compress on the glass as he took in the liquid and moved it around on his tongue. He bent down to me, and as he swallowed, he pressed his soft, warm lips to mine and parted them. I swirled my tongue around his, then ran it along his teeth, inhaling at the same time.

"Wow," I sighed, dropping my head back on the couch, bathing in Edward's gorgeous, crooked smile. I held my arms up, inviting him to join me, and he sank to the floor on his knees between my feet.

The look on his face was dark and smoky, full of undisguised desire. "Tell me," he breathed.

I swallowed. "Mmm… well, there's you, and then… fire."

"Fire?" Edward looked adorably skeptical. "You've eaten fire?"

I made a face at him and amended, "Fire made from honey."

Edward set his glass on the floor, then pushed my legs apart and scooted in between, his large hands on my knees, his long fingers wrapping around the backs, burrowing in the creases of my jeans. His eyes were intense as he leaned in, his breath sweet on my face, "You are fire made from honey, Angel." He ran his nose alongside mine and whispered, "I love you."

"Edward…" I sighed, but before I could continue, his lips closed around mine again. His kiss was insistent, and I mumbled a weak protest into his mouth, before his tongue swept across my bottom lip. My own mouth opened to his automatically, exactly like I'd been kissing him for lifetimes instead of weeks, and there were no more protests to be made. This man owned my body, and I probably didn't have to give it too much thought before I knew he owned my heart.

As our tongues tangoed, I felt Edward's fingers ghost along the waist of my jeans, and my stomach shivered at his touch. He unzipped my jeans, skimming his fingertips behind the rasp of the zipper, before curling them inside and tugging the fabric apart. I moaned in disappointment when his lips left mine and moaned in appreciation when they found my abdomen, peppering tiny kisses downward. I lifted my hips a bit and Edward leaned back to pull off one pants leg. He trailed little sucking kisses up my exposed thigh, moving my foot, still in its sock, to rest on his shoulder.

My entire body tensed in anticipation. As I watched, Edward's face lowered between my legs until just his green eyes showed, darkened under the crazed burnished flames of his hair. His tongue swept over the fabric of my panties, and he moaned, "Fuck, Bella, do you just _stay_ wet for me?"

I might have muttered something in response, but I was too lost to the heat and movement of his wicked, wicked tongue. I lifted my hips to him, begging, and felt his fingertips push aside the fabric and the slightly cooler air hit me, making me shiver. And then, that feeling I was learning I couldn't live without: wet hot licks from bottom to top and back, the pointed tip of his tongue probing and delving and circling, my cries building until he was growling and pressing and nipping and pushing and I was pushing back with a jerk seeing stars white streams of light flesh popping and peach flowing down to soft sugar hiccups and sighs.

The smell of my juices and Edward's lust were thick in the air and I gulped in great lungfuls, unable to get enough. As my body quieted, I heard the soft zing of his zipper and my eyes fluttered open to his, before looking down to his heavy shaft, rosy and hard in his fist. I breathed in that heavenly scent, Edward's dusty arousal and smoky skin, and murmured, "I want to do that."

He grinned lazily and leaned forward from his knees. I grasped him at his base and bent to lick the liquid splendor from his tip, before running my tongue back and forth on his length in broad, sloppy strokes. I moved my hand in the moisture, hearing the soft sounds of skin on skin. As he swelled against my palm, I swung my legs up over the back of the couch so I could drop my head backwards over the front edge, aligning my mouth with him. I pulled my lips around my teeth to protect him from cuts and venom, letting his head slide in and out while I twisted his length in my hand, holding him tight. The rocking of his hips became erratic, and his breath was coming in gasps. I quaked with anticipation, pressing my tongue against him. With a low grunt, he stilled in my hand, then came in gooey pulses, spattering on my chin. I almost pushed him away in my eagerness to lick and swallow every bit—as ever, he chuckled and reminded me that he'd make more, just for me, always for me, his voice husky and hot.

Edward crawled up next to me and we tangled together, our jeans still flopping around our legs. Edward's shoes were still on, our shirts were folded in rumples between us, and my arm was trapped under him, as I tucked my head next to his shoulder and smacked my lips in sated happiness. Edward laughed at the sound and pulled me close. I snuggled against him, inhaling the aroma of his skin and soap, letting myself sink into his deliciousness and calm.

"I'm finished," he whispered into my hair. I laughed a little and he groaned, "No, not _that!_ I mean, _yes_ that, but I'm all done with 'Waiting.' I'll be turning it in tomorrow." Laying against him, I mmm'd a satisfied sound. I knew how he'd struggled and how important this piece of music was to him.

"You know," he mused, "I've watched Alice and Jasper together for years. They seem so mismatched—she's all hyper and creative and social and he's quiet and deep and a brain—but they're perfect for each other. They balance each other out. I've never seen two people more in love."

He paused and I listened to his heart beating steadily in his chest. His voice was quiet when he continued, "You've never met my brother Emmett, but you will. He's amazing. Funny. Mad skills with cars—he'd love your truck. I'm sorry I don't see him more. I thought he'd ever settle down—he's always been so in the moment. Never a plan. Never a care. But when he met Rose, everything in him changed. Or, well…" Edward's voice sounded far away, _"Nothing_ in him changed. He and Rose just… meshed.

"And now there's a baby on the way. And Rose is all grouchy and Em's all ridiculous, but I can feel the love whenever I'm around them. How deliriously happy they are…"

"And this relates to your composition how?" I wasn't quite following Edward's train of thought.

"I didn't think it would ever be finished."

I looked at him then, baffled.

He grinned his lopsided grin and shook his head, "Can't finish a tune called 'Waiting To Be Whole' if I'm still waiting, now can I?"

I made a small scoffing sound, then scowled in confusion, "But you just said it was finished…"

Edward's grin crumpled around the edges and his eyes grew anxious. _What?_ I replayed his words in my head.

"Your piece is finished? Meaning… you're finished?" I hesitated. What was he saying? I looked at him, saw his eyes grow intense, his grin widen in to a full-blown little boy smile. He nodded vigorously, flopping his sexed-up hair across his forehead. "You're… whole… now? Because you finished your music piece?"

Edward's entire body tightened against mine, coiled with the energy pouring off him at my words. Edward's very soul poured out of his eyes into mine. "Yes, Angel, _yes._ You completed my song. And you complete me.

Maybe you're my chance to be whole."

I bit my lip, feeling my eyes prickle with tears I couldn't form. My ribs compressed in a wordless cry and I threw myself on top of him. I pressed my mouth on his, over and over. His lips parted, his breath filling my mouth. My tongue pressed into him, wrestling with his in jabbing swirls. I felt him harden against my thigh.

"Ow!" Edward yelped against my mouth.

I reared up to look at him and he smiled sheepishly. "Zipper," he winced.

I whirled away from him and yanked off his shoes, then his jeans. I straddled his thighs, one knee bent by his hip, the opposite foot on the floor. I lifted up and wrapped one hand in the waist of my panties. With a hard yank, I ripped them off and Edward's eyes widened in delight as I tossed them away. I gave him one or two hard strokes, before raising myself over him. I looked at him, his face suffused with desire and love, and I lowered on him in one wet move.

Edward moaned and thrust up against me, bouncing me on him. I pressed back, and circled my hips against his, rocking on him, rubbing his hardness against the place I needed friction most. Edward's fingertips pushed into my hips urging me to move, and I lifted, then lowered, over and over. I clenched my muscles around him and his hand flew out, smacking into the couch back. _"Fuck,"_ he groaned, "Do that again." I did, and watched him unravel under me, his eyes closing, his brow puckering, his extraordinary mouth falling open. His neck arched, his chin tilted, I could see his pink tongue press up behind his teeth. The sight shattered me, and I came in ripples of pleasure, feeling Edward's throbbing follow me.

I dropped my head on the couch back, my hair falling over my face. I listened to Edward's panting quiet, his heart return to a steady drub, as he softened inside me. After a moment, he stretched under me, and I shook back my hair to watch the muscles of his abdomen pull tight. I pressed my palm on his taut flesh, working my fingers under the bottom of his shirt. He blew out a breath, and we smiled at each other, relaxing into stillness, just being quiet together.

I let my mind drift over what he'd just said, back to all he'd told me today. I thought about how he smelled and how it had first filled me with dread. I thought about how I had wanted to drink him dead. I thought about how I had come to need him. How he calmed me. Excited me. Completed me, as he said I completed him. Was that even possible? But more significantly, could I exist without him now? Did I even want to?

Edward shifted under me, mumbling small satisfied sounds as my hand moved along his defined muscles. I tickled and tapped and dragged my fingertips along his stomach—my fingers wrote words of how we met and what we'd found in each other and that he was my singer—did I want him to know I was marking him as my possession? Just as I gave myself a mental shrug, he murmured. "Are you writing on me?" I nodded, watching his eyes open and turn inward as he concentrated. "Your hand is writing _'M? I? N… _

_Mine'_?"

I looked into his depthless green eyes and they dilated almost to black as I nodded again.

His voice was smoky as he whispered, "Use both hands."

* * *

**Author's note:** If you've looked at my profile recently, you know that I have been struggling to do justice to my story while giving all my available energy to my husband's care. I don't feel I've been doing a good job with the story, mostly because caregiving on such an intense level is a creative-energy zapper. So I will likely post the only remaining chapter I have written, and then put W2BW on hold for several months; I simply don't want to keep you, my devoted readers, in limbo. I certainly don't want to be half-assed with the characters, either. If you don't already have me on alert, please do so. That way, you'll get a notice when I've started writing again. Thanks for your patience and support. MM


	32. Chapter 32

**Author's note:** I usually dislike it when authors do this, but I'm posting a teaser for all you new readers who've jumped on my crazy bandwagon following the delicious MrsTheKing's tweet about this story. She simply knew that all ya'll adding me to your favs and alerts would kick my butt in gear and get me writing again (it worked, Mrs. and I owe you forever). So thanks to all of my new readers, and the entire chapter will post this weekend—check back for it then, 'kay? MM

* * *

**Chapter 31**

As we left the music building, I kept my arm around her, holding her close. Every day it got harder to be away from Bella, and I felt most at ease when we were touching. She also seemed more comfortable when we touched, but then, I knew she was more calm with me anyway. Humans in general made her edgy. I think she mostly was willing to spend time with them because of me.

Well, that and she wanted her degree.

Now that my compositions for the Carpenter were turned in, I was eager to focus on Bella's writing, and discuss my idea for working together on a piece. Thinking about possibly performing with her practically gave me a hard on. To have Bella and my music develop into something we could create together and share equally was more of a dream come true than I had ever envisioned. I just didn't know how she'd feel about having even more direct contact with humans. But we'd cross that bridge… later.

I felt so light. The weight of the competition work was off me. The semester was almost over. I'd found my muse and she was like nothing I could have imagined. I tugged her to me tighter and kissed her hair, indulging into her soft floral scent, when someone called out, "Edward!"

My arm still tight round my girl, I spun us toward the voice, to see the bear-like mass of Jacob Black moving toward us with leonine grace; the man was immense. As he approached, his smile grew huge and brilliant, and as his hand came out for a shake, he said, "It's Edward, right?"

I smiled back, extending my hand, when several things happened at once.

My arm loosed its hold on Bella. I heard her inhale sharply. Jacob Black's eyes shifted to where she stood. His eyes went wide and inky and Bella hissed out a noise that instantly rose into a yowl.


End file.
